


If I Was Stronger

by haloeverlasting



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alcohol, Coming Out, Depression, F/F, Falling In Love, Friends to Lovers, Getting Back Together, Girl Direction, Happy Ending, Louis has sex with someone else but it's ridiculously brief, Making Out, Outing, Realization, Recreational Drug Use, This poor girl doesn't even have a name, Vaginal Fingering, breaking up, is mentioned but does not happen in the timeline of the story
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-29
Updated: 2018-01-29
Packaged: 2019-03-10 21:04:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 50,830
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13509747
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/haloeverlasting/pseuds/haloeverlasting
Summary: Harry’s fingers find her lips, in a silent moment of wonder and reverie, and her knees wobble as she’s assaulted with the image of Louis, right here in her bedroom, with her light blue eyes, and her gentle hands, and Harry feels an overwhelming rush and longing to reach out and touch. She imagines Louis stepping towards her slowly, treading lightly with her fingers on her cheek, where Harry’s dimple may appear, and whether Harry would like it if Louis’ thin lips found hers.With her eyes closed, she imagines Louis standing very close, and she finds the wait to be agonizing, but when she goes to close the distance, there’s no one besides herself in her bedroom.Harry lets out a breath she hadn’t even realized she’d been holding. She feels tingly, and hot, and absolutely terrified, but the next time she looks in the mirror, she sees someone she knows intimately. She sees that girl with bright green eyes, and unruly hair, and parted lips, and she loses her breath a moment, because while she knows that girl inside and out, she hasn’t been honest with herself until… well, now.“I might be gay.”A Girl Direction AU where Louis holds universes inside her, and Harry just wants to hold her.





	If I Was Stronger

**Author's Note:**

> Alright. Here we are. 
> 
> I'm incredibly excited and terrified to share this with you all. I'm so overwhelmed currently that I've forgotten everything I wanted to say. 
> 
> I'll start by giving all my thanks and affection to [Della](http://iamasphodelknox.tumblr.com), for always being there to listen and brainstorm, cheerleading, editing, and for loving these girls as much as I do. You've been such an integral part of this story, I can honestly say it wouldn't be what it is without you. <3 Thank you to [Bri](http://briannamarguerite.tumblr.com) for your thorough edits and your incredible encouragement along the way. I appreciate your kind soul SO much. And thank you [India](http://indiaalphawhiskey.tumblr.com) for cheerleading, and listening to this idea blossom at the very start.  
> I'd also like to thank my group chats for always being there to listen and cheer me on. <3 
> 
> This story is deeply personal to me, and inspired by a quote from one of my favorite plays.  
> "And you know, I thought I was in love with him before, but that was really nothing. That was really just a warm-up. No. This, this is it. This is love and it is awful and terrible and really overwhelming." - Julia Cho, The Language Archive
> 
> Enjoy!

_ August 28, 2017 _

Harry takes a shaky breath in as she walks through the student center, lunch bag in tow. She’d forgotten it in her car—along with her wallet, ruling out a last minute purchase from the deli on campus. Really, the worst part of it was that she’d lost her new friend. Harry had known her first day had the potential to be very lonely, but she’s a social creature and the idea of eating lunch alone actually makes her a little teary. 

Her period is like three days late, so that isn’t helping. 

Harry takes another deep breath and tries to focus on the crowd in front of her. It’s not like she had told Niall she was going to get her lunch and been met with a dismissal. Niall had understood and said she’d see her in the student center. Harry has no reason to  _ believe _ she had been trying to get rid of her, she’s just so nervous that she’s lost her chance and her worst nightmares about a new university are about to come true. 

Moments like this one always reminds her of the day she’d decided to move back home to finish her degree. Her old school had been fine, but she was making the trip home most weekends anyway, and there was no sense in paying thousands extra to live on campus. Especially when there was a perfectly fine university ten minutes away from her mom’s house. Her biggest hesitation was abandoning her friends. But she knew, none of them would be there forever—not really. Still, she had stress dreams of eating lunch on campus alone and looking wistfully at all the people who’d found a community with each other. 

She’s being dramatic, she knows. Overthinking it all to the max. Harry knows she’ll have friends. She knows how easy it had been to find common ground with Niall in their first class together. The start of fall semester always brings a different type of excitement, an anticipation similar to what happens on New Year’s. 

“Welcome to the new best days of my life,” Harry had said, a sly smile on her face. 

“S’pose this means I’ll be in your wedding someday,” Niall had joked. 

Harry’s head had tilted back when she laughed. “I mean, of course. And it’ll be an honor to hold your hair back while you puke in the meantime.” 

Harry’s eyes scan the crowd in front of her now until she sees an arm waving in her direction, attached to a girl with blonde hair, and a wide smile. Harry sighs, relieved, and waves back before making her way to the table Niall’s secured them. 

Once Harry’s taken a seat, she pulls her long curls off her shoulder and puts them in a messy bun on top of her head. 

“Getting right to business then?” Niall asks. 

Harry nods, smiling easily, “Don’t you dare get between this girl and her food.” 

Niall laughs, this high, tinkly thing and Harry smiles so wide her dimple pops out. 

She pulls out her turkey sandwich and places what feels like a fourth of it in her mouth all at once, moaning as she chews, as if this is the first bite of food she’s had to eat in weeks. 

“Good, then?” Niall asks, clearly amused. 

“I fucking love bread,” Harry replies, chewing as she laughs. She’s relieved really, that she’s secured herself someone to sit with at lunch, and that her new life may not be over before it’s started. 

Life is good, great, even, and Harry really does feel like this might be the beginning of some of the best days of her life. 

That’s when Harry sees  _ her _ . 

Everything about the moment feels elevated somehow. Harry’s had a few times in her life where she’s met someone and known they’d be important. Her mom had introduced her to who is now her stepdad as a friend from church, and Harry had known deep in her gut that the man would be there the rest of her life. 

It’s a slight shift in the atmosphere, so minute that only she can feel it. It’s a twitch, and a shaky breath in, and three seconds that feel much longer, when Harry makes eye contact with the girl across the room. 

She waves, and the girl smirks a little, a glint of humor flashing through her gaze before she turns and prances away. 

“You know Tommo?” Niall asks, words garbled by the food in her mouth. 

Harry shakes her head, trying her hardest to pretend nothing had happened. Because, really? Nothing had. 

Niall giggles, “Why’d you wave then?” 

Harry shrugs, a nervous giggle escaping her, “We made eye contact. Felt appropriate, I dunno.” 

She pauses before asking, “How do you know her?” 

Niall shrugs. “We’re friends.” 

“Wait, what year are you?” Harry asks.

“Junior,” Niall explains. “I’ve known Lou for ages though. We went to the same high school. She’s great, honestly, I bet you’d like her. Granted, I haven’t met anyone who doesn’t.” 

Harry hums, “Lou, then? That’s her name?” 

“It’s Louis. Louis Tomlinson. But you mostly hear people call her Tommo.” 

“Tommo,” Harry repeats. “Alright, then.” 

The silence that passes after is awkward, though Harry honestly hasn’t a clue why. Louis is just a girl and Niall just happens to know her. 

“Thanks by the way,” Harry says suddenly. “For having lunch with me. I was a little nervous I wouldn’t make any friends my first day.” 

Niall’s gleaming smile returns, “No problem at all. I have a feeling we’re going to be great friends, Harry.” 

Harry returns her grin, placing a hand to Niall’s shoulder. “Ya know what? I feel exactly the same.” 

  
___

 

_ July 25, 2018 _

Louis groans at the incessant buzzing coming from her bedside. She moves her hand rapidly to the little table that holds her phone to hit her screen—hopefully at the snooze button and not turning her alarm off entirely—and in the silence of her dark room she rubs her eyes. They’re especially crusty this morning and Louis grimaces because they’re sore and swollen from the previous night’s tears. 

She knew watching The Notebook before bed had been a terrible decision, but she’d needed a good cry. Some sort of catharsis to help her deal with the resounding numbness she’s been experiencing. It would have been fine were it not for the memories. If every time Louis closed her eyes she didn’t hear a gentle sniffle from beside her, and imagined strong, soft, hands gripping her forearms. 

Graduation had brought a general wave of uselessness with it all on its own. Losing the greatest joy of her life seems to have cemented it, even a month later. 

It isn’t fair that this is happening to her. It isn’t fair that the smallest things remind her of the greatest thing she’s ever had. The most sincere and eager lover. The most gentle, endearing, and kind friend. And now Louis is here. About to be late for work the third day this week, and alone. 

And yet, there is no one to blame but herself. 

Louis rolls out of bed and traipses to the bathroom where she gives herself a good long look in the mirror. She’d been prepared for all the mascara smudges, but she hadn’t expected the sheer size and darkness of the bags under her eyes. She’d gotten her hair cut just last week, hoping it might make her feel more like herself, more comfortable. Instead it sticks flat to her scalp, only drawing attention to how often Louis finds herself horizontal, head pressed to the pillow where she mopes, and often cries. 

Her life is now categorized as time at work and time at home. She just doesn’t have it in her to go out. Not when most of her friends are handling this whole graduation thing much better than she is. Her closest friends haven’t even graduated yet. They don’t understand. And besides that, they’re all close to the only one Louis really wants to see. The only one she misses in a way that aches. 

And after everything, there’s no way any of them want to see her. Louis can barely stand to see herself. 

She brushes her teeth hard, because she’s supposed to, but secretly every bit of pain is welcomed like an old friend. It seems silly, but sometimes in the shower she scrubs a little harder than normal, to rid herself of this skin, of this version of herself, and also because she wonders sometimes if she deserves it. So she brushes her teeth and she washes her hands and she wipes away all the sadness she can, hoping to re-emerge as a girl, ready to face the world. Ready to face her life. 

Louis was supposed to graduate and do something important. She was supposed to get the fuck out of that school and go be someone. Who she was meant to be. 

Instead she’s a server, and today she has the lunch shift. Louis wets her hair and shakes it out and blows it dry so it sits on her head in a way that at least appears to be artfully dishevelled. She picks up her dirty apron from the counter, and her keys from the hook and leaves the house before Liam can even say hello. 

She walks to work, and wishes she’d have worn a heavier coat. It’s frigid out. This used to be the time of year she’d pull out her old leather jacket. It’s warm, but it belongs to someone else now. Much like the person who used to wear it. She sighs, and keeps walking.

Once she arrives, she’s greeted by Zayn. She’d forgotten they had the same shift today, and it’s a relief. In her haste, she’d forgotten a pack of cigarettes, and Zayn owes her one. She gives him a small wave and goes to the computer to clock in. It’s ten thirty-five and Louis grimaces as she logs herself in late again. 

Her manager, Bryce, avoids her eyes when she walks through the kitchen and past him. She knows they’ll be speaking later about this habit. There’s a pit in her stomach imagining the conversation. 

“Hey, love,” Lauren—Louis’ favorite hostess—greets. “You’ve got a little, erm—” she motions at Louis’ eye bags and Louis reaches for whatever it is to find her under eye concealer is still wet to the touch. She blends it and grimaces at the look of pity she’s receiving from her friend. 

“Rough night?” 

“I don’t wanna talk about it,” Louis admits. 

“Alright, love. You’re in section four today, alright?” 

Louis nods and musses her hair slightly, “I’m ready for a table whenever. I’m just gonna go put on some mascara in the bathroom.” 

And when Louis looks herself in the mirror for the second time today, she sighs and shuts her eyes for just a moment. Another deep, cleansing breath, and she repeats to herself, “This won’t be forever. You can still be magic.” 

It was a mistake, repeating the silly little mantra. It makes her lips tug down in a deep frown, and a tear slip from her eye. She needs a smoke, or she needs to go home. But she’s sure she has a table by now, so she pastes a fake smile to her face and breathes slowly out her mouth. 

And like that, another day begins. 

The melancholy creeps in for moments at a time. When she spots a girl at the front door with long, dark, curly hair. Or when she sits outside on the pavement with a cigarette in hand, with Zayn as quiet company. 

She asks him at some point, “Do you ever feel like you’re sabotaging yourself? Like you’re the reason nothing good happens to you?” 

Zayn is quiet for several moments before he kicks the bottom of her shoe lightly. “Save those questions for blunts later, alright?” 

“God, can we?” Louis asks. 

“Yeah, course. You look like you need one.” Zayn admits. 

And Louis already hurts, but every time someone points it out it’s like another crack in her exterior. Her pain just oozes out and covers every inch of her. Sometimes she can see it, the way it falls slowly like this thick substance, and Louis wonders if it will eventually reach her face and drown her. Or if she’ll emerge from the cocoon without the pain and the hatred and the mistakes. 

The breeze hits her face and she takes another drag of her cigarette and imagines that emergence as someone new and she hears soft words from her favorite voice repeated again in her head. 

_ You’ll always be magic to me. You can be magic.   _   


 

___

 

_ September 6, 2017 _

Harry wants to say that she doesn’t think of Louis at all in her first two weeks. Besides their first encounter, there really hasn’t been all that much for Harry to meditate on, and yet, she finds herself searching for Louis in every room she enters. Harry wonders if today will be the day she’ll find Louis in the back of the library, or if Louis will have suddenly picked up one of Harry’s classes and take the empty seat to her left. In each of these scenarios, Harry hasn’t the slightest idea what she would  _ say _ to Louis. All Harry knows is that she hasn’t been able to shake the image of her out of her mind. 

It feels a little creepy, the way Harry’s eyes gravitate towards Louis every day in the student center. Harry must at least share a gap with Louis between classes or  _ something _ because every day Harry makes her way to the student center with Niall, and every day she sees Louis all the way across the room with someone else. Harry avoids eye contact, but also can’t help but glance her way every few minutes when she thinks Niall isn’t looking. 

Today she’s not nearly as discreet as she’d hoped. Harry is just admiring the way Louis’ done her hair, artfully tossed back with some sort of product to hold it in place. She’s somehow managed to keep it looking soft where it lays, and something in Harry stirs when she realizes she’d like to touch it. 

“You should go talk to her,” Niall encourages. 

“And say what,” Harry scoffs. “That she looks nice today?” 

“That’s a good start,” she smirks. “Ask her if she’s free Friday, maybe?” 

Harry frowns and meets Niall’s eyes. “What do you mean?” 

Niall rolls her eyes, “I mean, you’ve been ogling her for weeks. You should just ask her out already.” 

Harry sits, mouth agape at Niall’s suggestion. Harry’s never been mistaken for someone gay before. 

“Is Louis even gay?” Harry asks, before she can think the better of it. 

Niall laughs out loud, “Yes. She absolutely is. Can’t you tell?” 

Harry bites her lip, eyes darting downward to her half eaten wrap. “I mean… no. Should you be going around and like… telling people that?” 

Niall frowns, but recovers quickly. “I mean. Louis is one of the most unabashed lesbians I’ve ever met. I figure everyone knows, regardless of if she’s told them personally. But also, I know she’s not closeted.” 

“Really?” Harry asks, awed by the realization. It’s not that she’s against gay marriage, or like… the fact that people  _ are _ that way.

“Yeah, are you…” Niall stops, hesitating. “Sorry, feel free to totally dismiss this question, but I guess I just, assumed, with the way you’ve been looking at her. Do you… like girls?” 

Harry shakes her head quickly, eyes bugging out of her head. “Oh, no. I’m straight. She’s just… pretty, I guess. Um, do—do you?” 

She regrets asking it as soon as it’s out. It’s made her feel ten times more self conscious, and she can feel her cheeks flaming up as she waits in a silence that doesn’t last nearly as long as it feels. 

“I’m bi, actually,” Niall says. “But, um. Only a few people know that, so please keep it to yourself.” 

Harry nods, seriously, begging the heat in her cheeks to go away. “Thanks for telling me. Sorry, if I, uh… overstepped?” 

Niall shakes her head, a fond, almost sympathetic smile on her face. “You’re fine, Harry. Just know that like… it’s okay, if you like girls, okay? There’s nothing wrong with that.” 

Harry nods, because, of course she’s right. The only thing confusing about it is that Niall tells her this so seriously. A hesitant, skepticism in her tone. 

Lunch passes quickly after that, and Harry doesn’t see Louis Tomlinson for a few weeks. 

Harry stops looking for her in the hall. It was starting to feel creepy, just how inclined Harry was to search for her in every room. It progresses to the point of outright avoiding her in the student center. It was nothing to take note of, until Niall waved at Louis one day, and Harry forced her gaze to stick to her food. 

Niall’s brow furrows in her direction, and Harry can feel her judging eyes, but doesn’t say a word. 

Harry’s way too in her head about the whole thing, she knows. Louis Tomlinson doesn’t even know her  _ name _ late alone how often Harry finds her mind drifting to her. Her pretty cheekbones, and how she manages to look put together with a new coat of chapstick, and the way her laugh projects across whatever room she’s in, a sound too loud for her small frame. 

It’s unsettling—this fascination she has with someone she’s never even spoke to. It makes her feel weird more often than not. Harry thinks often to the first moment she saw her, and how  _ sure  _ she’d been that Louis would be important to her. She wonders if that was real, or if it was just this second nature shift in her priorities. She saw Louis Tomlinson and  _ wanted _ her to be important.

Maybe it had been wishful thinking to start, but there was always, always,  _ always _ the tiniest bud of hope taking space in her chest. And sometimes, when Harry’s avoiding Louis, she finds her gaze anyway. And sometimes, she lingers, because she can’t really help it, and there’s a spark of something in Louis’ eye before Harry breaks away.

Each time, Harry’s heart catches the flame and thinks, it can’t be in her imagination. It can’t be nothing. 

 

___

 

_ July 25, 2018 _

Louis doesn’t like silence. She never really has. It stirs something in her heart or her gut or her head that causes this unbearable nervousness. It feels like her entire heart could burst, and like something in her head is trying to push her out, and sometimes she’s helpless to fight it. Silence brings her back to cold tile floors in strangers’ bathrooms, and crying so hard she’s gasping just to keep breathing. Her mind fills in these blanks with sounds of utter helplessness, loneliness, and sorrow. 

She hits play on Liam’s stereo once she’s home because even Nicki Minaj is better than enduring that. Sitting in the silence. She’s still a little high from her time at Zayn’s and her body feels heavier, like the fluids inside have turned to syrup and it makes her limbs harder to carry. 

After Louis pulls her phone out of her back pocket, she lies on her back on the couch. She’s not sure where Liam is. She may have gone out for dinner when Louis didn’t come home. Louis secretly hopes that she won’t be home soon. She feels a little dizzy, and unfocused, and she’s not sure she could explain away the tears that keep leaking onto her face if she tried. Liam worries too much as it is.

Louis isn’t crying. Just leaking. Her insides keep pouring out of her, because a girl clutched something inside, and Louis pushed her out. She pushed her away and left herself with this gaping hole where everything she has keeps spilling out. 

Louis squeezes her eyes tight, willing it to stop, and lets her phone fall to her chest. 

She’s kept an admirable sense of discipline over the device. Often pulling up a number on her phone and  _ staring _ at it for several minutes. She loses track of the time before she closes out of her contacts and puts her phone away. 

Today, there’s nothing to say. Only a severe sadness Louis’ afraid will never really leave. Instead, Louis pulls up the name in her old text messages, and remembers a time she always had something to say. A time when her mind was a never ending whir of  _ mine  _ and  _ ours  _ and  _ adoration.  _

She reads back to a time that she was inspired. A time when the most mundane conversations had her head spinning because this girl wanted to hear it. This beautiful, magnificent creature of a girl, crafted by the gods themselves with Louis in mind, she was sure. 

Louis’ not sure she wants to be alone anymore, so she hits the home button on her iPhone and goes to her favorites, dialling up the only person who will answer. 

Liam answers on the second ring, “Lou. Hi.” 

Louis doesn’t say anything at all. Her breathing is ragged and it’s all just a little too much for her to muster up a hello. 

Liam understands. “I’m on my way home. Just hang tight, okay?” 

Louis hangs up, and she does exactly that. 

 

___

 

_ September 22, 2017 _

Harry hears a knock at her door just as she’s applying the tip of her eyeliner. She swears, smudging off her third attempt at a matching wing, and bids the knocker entrance. 

“Are you ready for dinner?”

Harry glances in the mirror to find her mum leaning against the door frame and frowns. “I told you I was going out tonight.” 

“You told me there was a party tonight. Not that you would be missing dinner.” Anne reminds her gently. “You should eat before you go. Besides, when does this thing start?” 

“Seven,” Harry says. 

“Oh, darling. You don’t want to show up to something like that until seven-thirty at the  _ earliest _ .” 

Harry rolls her eyes. “I mean, I  _ know _ that, Mom. I’m just getting ready.” 

“Well eat something before you go, yeah? I’ll save you a plate at the table.” 

Harry rolls her eyes, both at her mom and her stomach for giving a loud betraying growl. “I’ll be out in a minute.” 

Once she’s deemed her appearance acceptable, Harry skips to the table and finds her plate at her usual place. She takes a seat and digs in, forgoing a greeting. 

“Are you excited for your party, darling?” Anne asks, a wide grin on her face. “I’m so glad you’ve made some friends.” 

Harry wants to sink under the table. She feels like such a teenager, but her mother clearly doesn’t understand how  _ normal _ this is. This is just a regular outing with booze and music, it’s  _ fine _ . 

Harry is shitting her pants, honestly. The last thing she needs is for her mother to draw attention to it. 

She has no idea what to expect. Harry hadn’t really gone to house parties at her old school. She made friends with a couple girls who weren’t fans of substance abuse, and Harry hadn’t had any qualms about their reservations. 

Now, she’s a little anxious. All she knows is that Niall had mentioned there was a party in the senior dorms and that Niall was invited, so Harry should come along. Harry could hardly believe Niall had selected  _ her _ to accompany her for a party, but she decided to pretend that wasn’t the case and nodded casually. Just another Friday night in the life of Harry Styles, you know.

“Dear, I asked if you were excited?” 

Harry nods quickly, “Uh, yeah. I don’t think it’ll be this, like, big thing. Should be fun.” 

“You look nice,” Anne remarks, cutting into her chicken breast. 

“Thanks,” Harry mutters, hesitating before she tacks on a quick question. “Too nice?” 

Anne smiles, unassuming and shakes her head. “No, I think you look great.” 

“Thanks, Mom,” Harry mumbles, a small smile on her lips. 

Harry finds her mom was honest with her when she arrives. She whispers a silent prayer of thanks that her skirt and tights doesn’t make her look like she’s tried too hard. Her top is loose and makes her feel filled with whimsy, and comfortable in a way she hadn’t expected. Might also have to do with the fact that she’s sipping from the second drink Niall’s handed her tonight. 

Harry loves Niall and she often tells her so. “You’re pretty much stuck with me, you know that, right?” 

Niall laughs, taking another sip of her her drink. “I mean, we established this already. I’ll be in your wedding.” 

“Good, so long as we’re on the same page,” Harry teases, wrapping an arm around Niall’s waist. They walk across what was supposed to be the dance floor together. It appears, college parties, are similar to school dances in that, the dance floor stays pretty empty until someone is ballsy (read: drunk) enough to occupy it and take a crowd with them. 

They walk to the table where snacks and more drinks reside, and Harry wonders how Niall is taking it all in such stride. Being surrounded by these people who are coming up on the end of their human highlight reel and celebrating accordingly. Harry only just got here and she still feels a little too clumsy for something like this. She’s sure she’ll gain her footing someday, but that doesn’t feel soon. 

“So how’s your first party?” Niall asks with a sly smirk. 

“It’s not my first party!” Harry squeaks. It’s not nearly as convincing as she’d hoped. 

“It’s okay, Haz,” Niall giggles back. “That’s why I wanted you to come. If you’re gonna hang with me, you’ve gotta keep up, yeah?” 

“I don’t think I will ever have an alcohol tolerance as high as yours,” Harry admits. 

“I mean, by keep up, I mean just show up,” Niall laughs. “I don’t expect you to drink me under the table just yet.”  

“Or ever,” Harry argues, but she’s still laughing. 

“I’m just well practiced.” 

“Yeah, how often do you do this?” 

“Oh, all the time. Most weekends. It’s fun.” Niall shrugs like it’s not a huge deal. Like she’s not one of the coolest people Harry’s ever met. 

“I can’t believe you were even invited,” Harry admits, realizing only seconds later exactly how uncool that makes her sound. Niall busts out laughing in response and pats Harry’s shoulders lovingly. 

“I’ve just always had older friends is all. They took me round to parties way before I was old enough.” 

“And have you always held your own?” 

“Oh,  _ god _ no,” Niall is quick to deny. “The first two parties my friends dragged me along to left me with my head in the toilet well into the morning.” 

Harry’s jaw drops at that, but her shock is followed closely with another laugh. “I can’t even imagine it, to be honest.” 

“Oh, imagine it. I wasn’t born with the ability to down three drinks and feel nothing.” A mischievous glow flashes through Niall’s eyes then, and she grins in Harry’s direction. “Speaking of which, what do you say we have a shot?” 

“A shot?” Harry asks, eyes wide. It’s really not that she’s never been drunk before. (Her mom started sharing wine with Harry when she turned seventeen, and they got a  _ little _ carried away that Christmas) She’s just never had so much at once in this short a time frame. She’s already feeling a little wobbly on her feet, and like she may need to pee soon. A shot could be pushing her limits. 

Still, there’s next to no peer pressure involved when Harry accepts Niall’s hand as they journey to the kitchen for shot glasses. Niall even gives her an out when she sees the nervous bounce in Harry’s steps. 

Still, Harry accepts and downs the shot like a champ. Then coughs in disgust for exactly three minutes afterwards. 

Niall laughs loudly beside her, patting Harry’s back consolingly at the same time. Harry fills a plastic cup with water and guzzles it down quickly, gasping for a breath as soon as she’s done. “What even  _ was _ that? Rubbing alcohol?”

“Cheap vodka,” Niall answers quickly, with another obnoxiously loud laugh to accompany it. 

“You’re the  _ worst _ you know that. I take it back, you’re not in my wedding,” Harry cries out, defiantly. 

“Uh-uh! No take backs!” Niall yells, matter of factly. 

“Alright, alright, ladies!” a loud voice calls from across the kitchen. 

Harry looks up and sees the last person she expected to come across. 

Louis smiles wide, and Harry’s sure she must be addressing someone else. Instead, Harry, mouth hanging open, watches as she falls to Niall’s side easily, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. 

“What seems to be the problem here?” she asks, lightly. 

“Harry’s just taken me out of her wedding,” Niall says, with an exaggerated huff. 

“Her wedding?” Louis asks, surprise coloring her tone. 

“It’s a joke,” Harry clarifies. Out of the corner of her eye, she sees Niall smirk. Harry rolls her eyes, “Niall made me drink cheap vodka. On its  _ own _ .” 

Louis’ eyes sparkle as she turns to face Niall, still wrapped in her arm. “Is this true?” 

“Harry wanted a shot!” 

“But you went with this shit?” Louis laughs. “I thought better of you than that, Nialler. Did she at least give you a good chaser?” 

Harry shakes her head, pulling a small pout into play. “Had to fill my own cup with water and everything.” 

Louis gasps, in something between mock and sincere offense. “Niall, can you please tell me why you would do that?” 

“Thought it’d be funny.” Niall shrugs, giggling again under the sudden pressure. 

“Niall, is this how we treat pretty girls?” Louis asks. She shoots a cheeky wink in Harry’s direction, and Harry positively dies. She feels all too warm suddenly. Her palms are sweaty and her cheeks are burning. It’s probably just the alcohol kicking in. 

“I mean, it’s just Harry.” Niall rolls her eyes. 

“She doesn’t look like  _ just _ anything to me, Ni.” Louis releases her, and extends a hand in Harry’s direction. It’s so  _ formal _ . Harry’s not sure why she’s so flustered, but she feels her stomach squirm a little as she accepts Louis’ hand. 

“Harry, then?” Louis asks. 

Harry nods because, well, she’s afraid she swallowed her tongue with the bad vodka. 

“I’m Louis.” There’s a playful grin spreading from her mouth to the slightest glint in her eyes. Harry had thought she’d been fascinating from afar, but she’s downright mesmerizing up close. “Let’s make you a real drink, yeah?” 

Again, Harry nods, because what the fuck are words anyway? 

Louis keeps hold of her hand and pulls her in the direction of a variety of liquors and mixers. Harry really should stop after this next one. Really, it should’ve been before the shot, but  _ Louis Tomlinson _ is pouring her a drink right now. She can’t say no to that. 

Louis starts with some of that awful vodka and Harry’s about to protest, but Louis shushes her. “Do you trust me?” 

It’s a simple question. Nothing really remarkable about it, in fact, it’s light and playful. Still, Harry’s mind and heart applies this extra gravity to it. Lathers it in something heavy and meaningful so that seconds later, when she nods her head for the third time, it feels more like a silent promise. 

Louis grins. “Excellent.” 

Then she hands the drink to Harry, who pulls it close to her mouth, only hesitating a few moments before taking a sip. 

Her eyebrows shoot up in surprise. “That’s the same shit Niall gave me?”

Louis giggles. “Yep. The very same. Better though, right? The cheap stuff isn’t  _ always _ bad.” 

“You’re  _ magic _ .” Harry says, with genuine awe. 

Louis beams at her. “You’ve really never had this?” 

“No! What is it?” 

“It’s just vodka and cranberry juice, love,” Louis chuckles. “Nothing too fancy, trust me.” 

“No, trust me. You’re magic,” Harry insists. “I couldn’t have made that shit taste good.” 

“Be careful now,” Louis chides jokingly. “If you keep flattering me this way, I might just have to keep you around.” 

“I think I can handle that,” Harry admits, with a small shrug. It’s timid in delivery, but Harry feels bold somehow in the admission. “But Niall’s already secured her spot as the maid of honor in my future wedding, so.” 

Louis smirks, “Has she?” 

Harry sips her drink and nods. She feels giddy with an unfamiliar sort of adrenaline. Whatever this is, it doesn’t feel dangerous. But it does feel uncharted and intrepid in so many ways. 

“Well, I suppose I’ll have to beat her somehow.” 

“You really up for that?” Harry asks.

She doesn’t know where this is even coming from, this instinctive  _ need _ to impress the near stranger beside her. Harry watches as something comes alight in Louis’ eyes, and wonders how much of it is in her imagination, or if it’s the tipping point for something precarious and thrilling. 

“I think I am, yeah.” Louis says with a higher intonation. 

Harry glances at Louis’ lips, and watches as they curl upwards, and her stomach mirrors the motion. She feels dizzy and overwhelmed, like maybe she should sit down. 

“You don’t drink much, do you?” Louis asks, eyes suddenly colored in concern. 

“Not really, no,” Harry admits reaching for Louis’ shoulder to steady her. 

“Come on, love, we can have a seat.” 

Harry feels far away somehow. Like her brain is further away from her face than usual, or her eyeballs are floating out of her head, or she herself has levitated all the way to a couch across the room where a soft hand rests on her thigh. 

“You okay? Harry?” 

“Yeah,” Harry mumbles, softly, “Sorry I think it all just hit me a little.” 

“You’re a lightweight, huh?” Louis teases, gently. She reaches out and touches Harry’s face—her hand is cool to the touch and Harry leans into it, too tired to think her actions through. 

She confirms with a little hiccup and an embarrassed giggle. “This is ridiculous, isn’t it?” 

“It’s a little adorable, to be honest.” 

Harry positively preens under the extra attention. She knows Louis is teasing, but there’s a lilt in her voice that implies she means it. It’s making Harry dizzy all over again. 

“Wanna get some fresh air?” Louis asks, so softly. She’s brushing Harry’s thick curls back on top of her hair, and yeah, air sounds nice, but so does curling up right here and falling asleep. 

Louis smiles and tugs one of her curls lightly. “Come on, let’s get you some water and go outside for a minute.” 

Harry nods after another moment’s delay and follows Louis to the kitchen in a limp handhold. 

She drinks her water without argument as she’s pulled along to the front step. Somewhere along the way, they found Niall, and she’s got an arm wrapped tight around Harry’s middle. If she was feeling just a little more awake, she’d have it in her to be embarrassed. Instead, she’s just grateful. 

They find a seat on the front porch and Harry melts into Niall’s side. Her eyes flutter closed as she rests a head on Niall’s shoulder, feeling nothing but debilitating gratitude for the chilled air on her skin, and Niall’s friendly voice there to keep her calm. 

“You been holding out on me, Ni?” Louis says after a minute. 

“What do you mean?” Niall whispers back. 

Harry realizes then that they both must think she’s asleep. She keeps her eyes closed and her breathing even, focusing as she was before on calming down a bit. 

“She’s really cute,” Louis admits. 

Harry feels a thrill, and her stomach lurches—from the alcohol, or the compliment she doesn’t know. Harry feels out of her element in all senses. 

“I don’t think she’s interested,” Niall says, squeezing Harry’s middle just a tad tighter. 

“Oh,” Louis replies. “ _ Really? _ ” 

“I know, I know, just…” Niall sighs, “I don’t think she’s realized some things yet. And she may not want to.” 

Harry doesn’t know what they’re talking about, but she doesn’t like that it’s about her.

“I’m not going to force her into anything,” Louis replies defensively. “What the hell do you take me for?” 

Niall huffs, and Harry moves up and down with her motion, it makes her feel just a little queasy. 

“I didn’t mean it like that, Lou—” 

“I can just be friends with girls you know? I’m capable of it.” 

Niall goes to reply, but Louis cuts in too quickly.

“Just because you couldn’t keep your hands off me doesn’t mean I forced you to face something you weren’t ready for. That wasn’t my fault.” 

Harry doesn’t like how cutting her words are, doesn’t like the way she can feel Niall’s heart rate pick up and the sound of Louis stomping away, a hollow echo from below the wooden deck. 

Harry keeps her eyes closed, because she doesn’t need details right now. Her head is spinning enough as it is. She stays still and follows Niall’s body as she leans further back against the siding of the house. She had thought they were on a bench, but now she’s realizing that they’re sat on the wooden deck, and the air is chilled. The shivering starts before she can help it, and Harry feels Niall shake her shoulder lightly. 

That’s when she deems it safe to open her eyes. 

“How you feeling?” 

Harry hums in response, “Sleepy.” 

Niall huffs a quiet laugh and nods. “Wanna just stay at mine tonight? I would take you home but I have a feeling you’re a shitty navigator.” 

Harry thinks about telling her to take her home anyway, but she doesn’t even really know where they  _ are _ currently, let alone how to show Niall the way. 

She nods and lets Niall take her hand as they walk to her car. Harry’s still tipsy, and that’s likely the real cause of her warmth, but she likes to think Niall put it there and she is glad of it. 

 

___

 

_ July 25, 2018 _

Liam’s room is always so clean. Louis would find it maddening if she wasn’t always in here to get away from all the clutter in her own life. 

Louis had let herself in moments ago before Liam made it back. She had planned to wait, but she’d been able to hear her heartbeat in her head when they had hung up, and Louis hadn’t been able to handle the stillness. 

Briefly after she’s settled on the floor, she hears the front door open. When Liam doesn’t come straight to her room, Louis figures she’s starting some hot water on the stove first.

Liam must have cleaned recently—Louis can smell the lemon pledge from the bedside table. She tries to focus on that, even though it doesn’t do much for her headache, and then she hears the kettle on the stove begin to squeal. Liam walks in soon after that, with two mugs in hand. Louis’ tea is fixed exactly the way she likes it and she sips once before catching Liam’s eye as she sits. 

“I love you,” Louis says, staring meaningfully into her eyes. 

Louis knows she doesn’t say it often enough, and though it’s much too late in some instances, she knows that’s never the case with Liam. 

“Love you too, Lou,” she returns a small smile, then hesitates before adding, “But you look like shit.” 

Louis takes another drink and chuckles, a small, but sincere smile, appearing on her face. Nothing’s funny, but maybe it’s because Liam’s the only one who can say something like that to her and get away with it right now. 

“What’s happening?” Liam asks, “I know things have been rough, but you seemed to be getting better.” 

Louis frowns again, staring into her mug as if it carries the answers. There’s a long silence before Louis is able to form the words in her mouth, though she can’t control the twinge of pain she feels on all sides while uttering them. 

“I called Harry.” 

Liam furrows her brow, leaning forward in her chair. “You called her?” 

Louis bites her lip and nods. 

Louis knew that she’d cave first. She’s always known because she thinks of Harry in the worst cliches. She’s like rain in a drought, water in a desert, the wildfire that Louis’ been known to sit back and watch, helpless to its destruction because it’s just… well, it’s beautiful. 

“Did she answer?” 

“No,” Louis admits.

“Oh,” Liam responds, clearly dumbfounded. Though Louis can’t think of any reason she should be. 

Louis’ plan more or less was always crawling back to Harry. And deep down, she’s always thought that Harry feels the same. So, Louis called. She’d heard her voicemail, and Harry had felt even further than before. The thing with them has always been powerful enough to bring Louis to her knees, and even if they’re bruised from the crawl, Louis will always keep going, so long as Harry’s right in her line of vision. 

Maybe the reason Liam is staring at her like that is because she’d never known Louis’ feelings ran so deep. Louis hadn’t known it much herself, even though it all felt much bigger than it really was. Louis was avoidant, and stupid, and careless with her feelings, and in a lot of ways Louis had broken it off with Harry more than once without saying as much.

But this last time was different. This was the first time Harry had decided it. Every time before, Louis was the one who needed space. And yes, it hurt to distance herself. But so long as Louis was in the driver’s seat, she knew she’d always come back. And Harry would always be there. 

The moment Harry had pushed back, everything changed for Louis. The world tipped on its axis because this was foreign. Harry never pushed, always pulled. It disrupted the balance of everything, and Louis has been suffering weeks for it. 

She glances back up at Liam’s face, still laced with shock, though a quiet sympathy rests in her eyes.  

“I know it’s weird. She didn’t even answer, and I’m acting like it’s the end of the goddamn world.”

“Can I ask you… what really happened with you two?” Liam sighs. “I’m just trying to understand.”

Liam won’t understand. She can’t possibly. 

“I fucked it up, Li. Like always.” 

 

___

 

_ September 23, 2017 _

The morning after the party, Harry wakes up in Niall’s bed and groans. It’s a guttural sound that comes from at least twelve different parts of her body. Niall shoves at her lightly from the other side of the bed, effectively shushing her. 

It eases the embarrassment a tad, that Niall would also rather be asleep right now. However her relief is short lived, replaced rapidly with an intense bout of jealousy when Niall falls right back to sleep. Harry shuts her eyes, but it only accentuates the pounding in her head. She reaches for her phone, somewhere on the floor below, and winces when her eyes catch the sunlight coming through the bottom of Niall’s closed blinds. 

Harry swears quietly when she sees several missed calls from her mother, and multiple text messages as well. She remembers thinking she was in the clear when her mom had agreed not to wait up, but Harry can imagine her horror at waking and finding Harry’s bed completely empty. This was the ultimate downside to living at home—she had all the freedom to come and go as she pleased, but it didn’t make her mother worry any less. 

Harry swipes a message open and texts back a few sentences starting with sorry. It’s less than thirty seconds before she sees that little grey bubble, three dots that hold Harry’s fate. She scoffs at her own nervousness. She’s twenty years old, it’s not like her mom can  _ ground _ her. She gets back a few heart emojis and a “thank god” and a request that she just let her know when she won’t be coming home. 

Harry agrees, and rolls her eyes fondly. 

Once she’s closed out of her message app, she sees she still has an unread text. She furrows her brow, wondering who else might have messaged her this morning. 

It’s from someone named L in her contacts. 

_ Hello.  _

That’s all it says. Harry doesn’t know anyone who just goes by L, unless she met them last night?

Harry thinks back to the evening and remembers Niall and that shitty vodka, and she remembers… Louis. Oh god, is it? Is it Louis? Is that even  _ possible _ ? Harry doesn’t remember ever asking for her number, and if she did well that’s just  _ mortifying _ . All she remembers is that she turned that vodka into something delicious and got mad at Niall at some point. Nothing extraordinary happened. 

Harry stares at the text message skeptically. What if it’s not Louis? It could be anyone, really. 

“Why are you staring at your phone like it’s just punched your cat?” 

Harry looks up quickly from her phone to see Niall, staring up at her, eyes squinted and mildly amused. 

“Oh, I just. I have a text message, but I don’t know who it’s from.” 

“Lemme see,” she reaches out and takes Harry’s phone from her hand. 

“L,” she says out loud. “Hang on.” 

Niall pulls her own phone out and scrolls for a long time. 

“What are you—” 

“Aha!” Niall says much louder than the moment calls for. 

Harry waits a moment for Niall to explain, and Niall smirks, raising her eyebrows in Harry’s direction. 

“Well, what?” she asks, finally.

“Oh I just know who L is.” Niall shrugs nonchalantly. 

“Are you going to tell me, then?” Harry asks, a laugh escaping at the end of her words.  

Niall chuckles and drops Harry’s phone in her lap, “It’s Louis.” 

Harry’s stomach twists at the confirmation, even though she’d wondered if that was the case only moments ago. Niall goes back to scrolling on her own device, seemingly oblivious to whatever is happening to Harry currently. She feels so  _ weird _ . Her palms are sweaty, and she looks at the text message with an added weight. 

It’s just a hello. She can at  _ least _ return that. She types out a quick hi, with a waving emoji, and hits send before she can think better of it. 

Seconds after, she does think better of it. Frowning at the sent message as if it’s scorned her. She should have played it cool, pretended not to know whose number it was. Why did she use the damn emoji? That’s so weird. They’re not on that level yet. Harry can’t trust Louis to interpret her emojis properly. 

It’s just a wave. But  _ still _ . What if it’s too… flirty. 

Harry’s never had to think about that before. She scolds herself for thinking of Louis any differently just because Louis is, well… just because she’s gay. They’re both just people. There’s no reason Louis being gay would make her less capable than others of interpreting her emoji use. 

_ Oh my god, Harry,  _ she scolds herself.  _ It’s  _ not  _ that deep. Will you chill?  _

“Did you text back?” Niall asks suddenly, she doesn’t even bother to look up from her phone. 

“Yeah,” Harry mutters. She wonders if she can get away with leaving it at that, foolishly ignoring Niall’s follow up question. 

Niall nudges her then and she shrugs defensively, “What?” 

“What’d you say?” Niall chuckles. 

“I just said hi,” Harry shrugs. “Not a huge deal.” 

Niall smirks, “Alright.” 

“What?” Harry asks, self consciousness fluttering its way through her entire body. 

“What?” Niall returns, smirk ever present. 

“Why are you smiling like that?” Harry asks. 

“Why are you so  _ defensive _ ?” 

“I’m not!” Harry replies, petulant. 

Her phone chooses just then to buzz and she startles, hurrying to read the notification. 

Niall chuckles again, shaking her head, and Harry doesn’t like it. She feels  _ exposed _ somehow, and she doesn’t entirely know why. It reminds her of the night before, and Harry considers that Niall may be thinking the same thing. 

Harry shakes it off and looks at her phone, ignoring the way Niall’s eyes keep finding her. 

_ How you feeling this morning, ya lightweight? ;)  _

Harry’s mouth twists on her face as she attempts to conceal a wide smile. 

**Just fine, thanks. x Massive headache, but otherwise i can’t complain.**

She hits send quickly again, but this time she doesn’t feel quite as remorseful. Those damn emojis are what get her in trouble. 

The next reply comes quickly after. 

_ I’d complain plenty if I were you. _

There’s another wink, this time the actual emoji next to it as well as the crying laughing face. 

It’s so simple is the thing. Harry remembers that moment not long ago when she knew in her heart of hearts that Louis might mean something to her someday. That they might be friends. And this moment, this relaxed back and forth should feel significant somehow. And in it’s own way it is. But it doesn’t feel as taxing as the initial hello. 

Instead it’s easy. 

_ What are you up to this morning?  _

Harry smiles as she types out a reply. 

**I’m with Niall. We’re being lazy.**

_ Jealous. I’m babysitting.  _

**Babysitting while hungover? Gross.**

_ Yep. =/ luckily they’re feeling pretty lowkey this morning. Just watching some tv.  _

Louis keeps pulling out those archaic emojis and Harry finds it just a little endearing. She’d worked so hard to perfect her emoji game, and then Louis swoops in with these careless ones. It’s a little thing, but one of those details that makes Harry feel an excited flutter from knowing something she didn’t know before. It’s new and exciting. 

“What are you two even on about?” Niall asks with the slightest bit of annoyance in her tone. 

Harry sets her phone down, “Nothing, really.”

“You’re not grinning like it’s nothing,” Niall teases as she throws the blanket off her middle. “I’m gonna hop in the shower. Wanna grab food when I’m done?”

Harry nods, distracted by another incoming text. 

_ So what year are you again?  _

**Junior. I’m a transfer.**

Harry carefully selects the see no evil monkey emoji and hits send before lying flat on her back, holding her phone above her face as she waits for Louis’ next reply.

_ I wondered. I know I’d remember you if you’d been here longer.  _

Harry furrows her brow. 

**Why’s that?**

_ I couldn’t forget a pretty face like yours.  _

Harry’s stomach dips. It actually swoops underneath the skin of her belly and her whole mouth goes dry. Louis thinks she’s pretty, and Harry… is relieved? Elated? Scared? 

The blend of emotions swirling in her heart and mind are all kinds of confusing. She releases a sharp breath and sets her phone down then, staring at the ceiling. 

Harry’s thoughts return to last night. She still can’t believe Louis approached her like that. Took her hand and made her a drink. She can’t believe she was on the receiving end of Louis’ attention, and that even after basically falling asleep, Louis still wants to talk to her. It’s a little surreal. She remembers the cool air on her face, and her cheek on Niall’s shoulder and words just above a whisper on the deck. 

_ “I don’t think she’s realized some things yet.”  _

The swoopy feeling in her belly comes to a hard stop. It feels like the butterflies vanished in the wake of an anvil dropping hard and fast on her insides. 

Harry sets it aside quickly after that. She shakes it off and sits up and she sees another message notification on her home screen. 

_ Did I say too much?  _

Harry hits the power button and pushes her phone across the bed and waits for Niall to come back. Her thoughts are swimming in circles around each other, and she needs a moment to forget it. Just a moment to swallow it down for later. 

Niall returns with impeccable timing and a towel wrapped around her. 

“You okay?” 

Harry nods. “Yeah, I’m okay.” 

“Sure? You look like you don’t feel so good.” 

“I’m fine. Just hungry, I think. And hungover.” 

Niall rolls her eyes fondly. “You seriously barely drank anything.” 

“I had like four drinks!” Harry proclaims. “That’s a lot for me.” 

“You have  _ much _ to learn, my protege.” She smiles, throwing on a pair of underwear with her towel still on. “Do you care if I get dressed in here?”

Harry’s heart beats a little harder in her chest. Does she mind? Will it… affect her? It never has before. Why would this be any different? There’s a deep seated answer to this question. Something Harry really doesn’t want to think, let alone speak out loud. 

“Why would I?” she answers suddenly. The terseness of it makes Harry wince. 

“I… don’t know?” Niall laughs awkwardly. “I just figured I shouldn’t drop my towel without making sure you’re comfortable?” 

“I don’t care. Um, can I… can I use your bathroom quick?” 

Niall raises an eyebrow and frowns. “Yeah, sure. You know where it is?” 

Harry nods and darts out of the room. 

Once she finds the bathroom, Harry immediately sits on the toilet seat and covers her face with her hands. It’s nothing, everything’s fine. It’s just that nothing’s fine at all. 

Harry’s head hurts. And it’s not from the remnants of her hangover. This isn’t the same incessant pounding from before. It’s more subtle than that. It’s a glitch in her vision, and a burning feeling in her throat as a million things run through her mind at once. 

The most prominent being, “What do they know that I don’t?” 

She says it out loud, staring at her hands. 

She knows. But she doesn’t dare speak it. 

 

___

 

_ August 5, 2018 _

Louis breathes out slowly, sweat dripping down the side of her face, and her entire body tense under the touch of someone new. No one important. Only new. 

Her fingers slide up Louis’ thighs teasingly, and it drives her wild in a way nothing does anymore. She bites her lip, whining softly, when she feels a soft warm breath just above her. It tickles a little, but Louis finds herself thrusting up, toward the heat, as she throbs with the itch she just can’t seem to scratch herself. 

When her tongue dips lightly into Louis’ own slick warmth, she feels afloat almost. It’s easy to get lost in it, she reaches out to grip either sides of the bed and pulls, tethering herself to this place, movements jerky and uncontrolled as she lets someone new have a taste. 

But when Louis closes her eyes, it’s like she’s submerged in water. Floating under the heavy weight of the sea. It stings, the way the saltwater seeps into her skin, reopening wounds Louis thought she’d sewn shut.  Louis only squeezes her eyes shut tighter, bucking her hips up, and moaning, high and shrill. 

It’s good. It’s good to  _ feel _ . Even if it hurts. 

The comedown is bitter sweet. Even after she’s come, her inner folds ripple and throb, like a beating. A punishment. She accepts a kiss from someone new, tasting herself on her lips, and remembers a time when it wasn’t herself she hoped to taste. 

 

___

 

_ September 29, 2017 _

“Hi.” 

There’s a chirp from a few feet away. Harry focuses in on her text book, trying to block out the surrounding interactions. She’s been studying too long at this point, she has to force her eyes to stay downward on the last sentence she registered. It physically pains her not to glance up for some kind of distraction. Harry claims she loves people watching, but really, she’s just easily distracted to the point of seeking it out. 

“Harry?” 

Oh. Harry instinctively lifts her head at the sound of her name, and sitting across the small table from her is the one and only Louis Tomlinson. 

“Hi,” Harry says, after about three seconds delay. 

“How are you?” Louis asks, a soft smile on her face. 

Harry notices that she’s just cut her hair. She smiles when Louis reaches to fix some hair that isn’t resting so far down her forehead anymore. The short fringe look is lovely on her, and Harry’s cheeks turn pink when she realizes she’s staring. 

“I’m alright,” Harry shrugs, shy. “Just studying.”

“I see that,” Louis smiles. 

They sit in silence for a moment. Harry hates the way her brain just shuts off when Louis is around. This isn’t even the first they’ve talked since that night with Niall. 

After about a day of no reply from Harry, Louis actually had the guts to call her. Harry had been flabbergasted, but she’d answered anyway. Louis had asked how she was doing, and when Harry had hesitated to reply, she’d been met with an apology and a plea for Harry to understand that Louis never wanted to make her uncomfortable. 

Harry had felt silly for overthinking it all. But she’d assured Louis that it was fine, and that she’d just opened the last couple messages on accident, never realizing there was anything left unreplied. 

Obviously, it was a lie. But it worked just the way Harry had hoped. Louis had launched into a chat between friends, and Harry hadn’t had to address anything. At least, not to Louis. 

Those thoughts that roared in her brain from that morning were still there, but Harry is learning to ignore them. She goes about her day as if everything is normal, and all the worries and questions have faded to a low hum in the back of Harry’s mind. A few things send them fluttering all over each other. The most prominent of those things is Louis Tomlinson. 

“How are you?” Harry asks now, dumbly. 

“Fine.” Louis shrugs, her demeanor cheerful. “Just saw you over here by yourself, and I wondered if you wanted to get some coffee with me.” 

Harry’s nodding her head before Louis’ even completed her sentence, shutting her textbook and immediately stuffing it in her bag. 

Louis chuckles a little, leaning back in her chair. “I thought this would be more difficult.” 

“What? I’m tired.” Harry admits. “Also I’ve been studying for like two hours and I can’t bear to read this textbook anymore.” 

“I know,” Louis says consolingly. “Which is why I waited until it looked like I might stand a chance.” 

Harry sends a questioning glance toward Louis as she stands and swings her backpack over her shoulder. “What do you mean?” 

Louis’ returning smile is the most sheepish Harry’s ever seen her look before when she admits, “I’ve been at that table since you got here.” 

Harry feels her stomach plummet, and she swallows once, eyes wide. She tries for a casual reply, but her words catch in her throat. “W-why didn’t you join me?” 

Louis smirks, “I have now, haven’t I?” 

She reaches for Harry’s hand, and Harry has little to say in argument as she accepts and allows herself to be dragged across the building to the university’s cafe. 

Little to say, much to panic about internally. She wonders if Louis’ noticed how quickly her palm became sweaty, or if she seems as nervous as she feels. Should she offer to buy Louis’ coffee? Would that make this a date or something? Does Harry  _ want _ it to be a date? Oh god. 

Harry collects herself silently, trailing behind Louis to the front counter. 

“Small vanilla latte with two shots?” Louis asks, immediately her eyes dart from Harry’s own to just past Harry’s eyeline, breaking contact. 

“Oh, uhm. Yeah, actually.” Harry confirms. “How’d you know that?” 

“Niall told me,” Louis admits. “I asked.” 

Harry tries really hard not to focus in on that last statement and dwells instead on, “How does  _ Niall _ even know that?” 

Louis giggles, “She says you’re just predictable.” 

“Or she’s just  _ always _ listening,” Harry laughs back. “Does she have me on a mic or something?”

Louis leans closer to Harry’s chest then, and Harry’s quick intake of breath is humiliating. The paranoia that Louis is close enough to hear the pitter patter of her anxious heart seeps in just as Louis says, “Hi Niall.” 

She says it straight to Harry’s boobs, and Harry is so tickled by it that she honks a surprised laugh and immediately covers her mouth, as though the motion could pull it back in. 

Louis smiles wide so that Harry can see her teeth, and the thought that even her teeth are adorable is too much for Harry to consider fully right now. She’s so distracted with trying to stay calm and keep her thoughts at a certain level of  _ normal _ that she completely misses the part where Louis orders her coffee. Before she knows it, there’s a warm cup in her hands, and a warmer smile on her face. 

It’s so stupid, she thinks, how giddy the kind gesture has made her. But it’s sweet. 

Louis finds a table for them, and Harry sets her bag on the side of the chair closest to the wall before she settles in, both hands wrapped tight around her paper cup. She blows at the little hole on top before taking a sip, and when she glances up over the top of it she finds Louis watching with a small smile. 

“How’s your semester going?” Louis asks, suddenly, and Harry is grateful for the change of subject. 

“S’fine,” she chirps back. “A lot more reading than I was anticipating, but I think I’m keeping up alright so far.” 

“You definitely are if you’re spending two hours in the library on a Friday,” Louis teases with sparkling eyes.

“I have some plans later, just kind of wanted to get some stuff done first,” Harry says, only slightly defensive. She’d put up a stronger fight if Louis didn’t seem to be endeared by Harry’s choices. “Besides, you’re here on a Friday too.”

“I’ve got a group project coming up,” Louis explains. “They all wanted to meet today instead of yesterday. Worked out in my favor in the end though.” 

“Yeah? How’s that?” Harry can’t believe she’s successfully making conversation right now, and she’s worried if she thinks too much more about it she’ll muck it all up. 

“Because I got to see you,” Louis replies, casually. Her eyes sparkle again, a sly smile on her face as she sips her drink. Harry squirms a little under the attention, the compliment sits on top of her like a soft sheet. She feels warm, but won’t quite let it seep into her pores. 

“What did you get to drink?” Harry asks, changing the subject. “Do you have a usual?” 

The glint in Louis’ eye falters. “It’s just a cup of tea.” 

“Is that your usual?” Harry asks. “I need to know, for future reference.” 

A small beam of light makes its way to Louis’ eyes, the light blue positively shining at Harry in a way that makes it hard to breathe. 

“It is,” Louis nods. She goes to speak again, hesitating a moment before she asks, “What are you up to tonight? You said you had some plans?” 

Harry nods. “I think Niall’s dragging me out again. She wants to build up my, um, tolerance so we’re drinking at hers first.” 

Harry thinks back to that last party, her hazy mind, and Louis’ hand on her thigh. She swallows it back and asks, “What about you? Any plans?” 

Louis hums and shakes her head. “I’ll hijack someone else’s probably. Drag Liam to a party or something.” 

Harry doesn’t know Liam. Something unsettled pushes its way through her veins as she bites the bullet and asks, “Liam?” 

“My best friend,” Louis says, simply. “She’s great.” 

“Oh,” Harry replies, curtly. Her instinct is irritation, because on some level, Harry thought maybe that title was hers for the taking. It’s silly, the way it makes her fidgety. She reaches for her hair and plays with the ends, pulling her curls and letting them spring back into place. 

“Wanna come to Niall’s tonight?” 

The question is out of her mouth before she can think twice about it. 

That beloved sparkle in Louis’ eye returns as she nods. 

A few hours later when Harry arrives at Niall’s front door, she knocks lightly before letting herself in. Niall greets her from the kitchen, and Harry, in lieu of a hello starts with, “I invited Louis to come.” 

Niall’s head pops around the corner, “Sounds good!” 

“Really?” Harry asks, “You don’t mind?” 

Niall laughs, “No? Should I?” 

“No!” Harry says too quickly. “No, you just… I thought… It’s nothing. She’s just coming. I’m glad that’s cool.” 

“You alright?” Niall asks. She takes a seat on the couch and pats the spot next to her. Harry obliges Niall’s silent request and sits down beside her. “You know that Louis is like… not at all cool, right? She’s the biggest dork I’ve ever met, and you have nothing to be worried about.” 

“I’m not worried,” Harry argues, lamely. “I just felt bad, I didn’t ask you first and—”

“Harry, it’s fine,” Niall smiles. “Let’s get you something to drink, yeah?” 

“Already?” Harry asks, incredulous. “I just got here.” 

“I wasn’t kidding about building up that tolerance of yours, my friend.” Niall stands quickly and scurries to the kitchen. “That means we start now.” 

Harry pouts, but when Niall returns and hands her something fruity and delicious, she decides that maybe Niall’s not so bad after all. 

“This isn’t the first of twelve is it?” she asks, sipping lightly from her glass. 

Niall laughs, “It’s not like I  _ want _ to hold all that hair back above the toilet, you know.” 

Harry laughs, and takes a drink anyway. Honestly, she can’t say she minds. Louis never said when she’d be coming by, but Harry keeps glancing at the door like it could be any second. A little liquid courage might just take the edge off. 

The nerves feel so unwarranted. Louis wanted to come. It hadn’t been as though Harry forced her or begged her or done anything to seem foolish. Louis just… makes her uneasy. In a pleasant way? It’s confusing. 

Her drink is gone sooner than she expects, and as soon as she sets her empty glass down it feels like Niall’s putting a cold beer in her hands. Harry doesn’t argue, though she can already feel it impairing her coordination. She’s clumsy even on her best days, but when she stands to retrieve her water bottle by the door, she trips. 

Harry tries to catch herself, but she just keeps falling as soon as her hands hit the floor and soon she’s lying face down on the living room floor. Niall laughs but still checks in, “You doin’ alright?” 

“Why was this a good idea again?” Harry says pathetically, words muffled by the carpet pushing into her cheek.

And of course, that’s when there’s a light knock on the door. Harry groans as Niall stands to open it, and just as she feared, Louis stands on the other side with someone she’s never met before. 

“Hiya!” Louis says, cheerfully. “I brought drinks!” 

Harry groans again. This is going to be a long night. 

“You really don’t handle your alcohol well, do you, love?” Louis’ words are dripping with pity, and something like endearment. And Harry would be embarrassed, but she can’t quite get past the word  _ love _ . 

She pushes herself up, but stays seated on the floor. “Niall says I’ll get better someday.” 

Louis giggles, “You will if you stick with her, that’s for sure.” 

“She’s only on drink number two!” Niall says. “It’s just sad if you ask me.” 

“I did well at my old school, Niall.” Harry explains, “Do you think I had time to build my tolerance then?” 

It’s not so bad, having Louis here. Harry almost forgets how nervous she was moments ago, but all of that goes away when she notices how closely she’s sitting to the girl Louis brought with her. 

“I’m Harry,” she says suddenly, waving in the direction of the stranger. It’s weird, how urgent it is that Harry knows who she is. 

“Hi,” she waves back, a sheepish smile on her face. “I’m Liam.” 

“Told you we’d be hijacking plans later,” Louis reminds her with a quick wink. 

Harry’s heart flutters, but quickly settles when she remembers how she’d spoken of Liam earlier. Her best friend, she’d said. Not girlfriend, then.

Harry swallows, taking another swig of her beer, and leans back, holding herself up with one hand behind her back. She watches as Louis opens one of the beers she brought with her, wielding a bottle opener with ease, and hands it to Liam before grabbing another for herself. 

“Thanks, Lou,” Liam says cheerfully. 

Harry finds it irritating. 

“So where’s your next stop tonight ladies?” Louis asks easily, brushing lightly at her hair. 

Niall shrugs. “I figured first, I’ll get Harry drunk. Then we’ll get on campus and find ourselves a rager.” 

“Well, step one achieved?” Louis says, gesturing to a spacey Harry on the floor. 

Harry is aware, is the thing. She’s aware of her surroundings and not nearly as sleepy as she was that first night. She’s just focused in on Liam, noticing the way she keeps glancing at Louis, and wondering if there’s something there. Harry wonders absently if Liam has ever had feelings for Louis—or if there’s a chance she could  _ become _ Louis’ girlfriend. If there is, then at least Louis’  best friend slot would be there for the taking. And yet, something in her stomach is twisting at the idea of Louis with a girlfriend. She imagines her holding Liam’s hand and it makes her dizzy. 

Is it alcohol that does this to her brain? Harry wonders, as she feels those ugly thoughts making a grand return, circling around her. It feels almost outside her head at this point, and when she looks up, she imagines the words actually above her, and she hopes and prays she’s the only one who can see them, feel them. 

“Clearly, yes. Harry has left the building.” 

“Shut up,” Harry whines. “I’m fine.” 

Niall laughs, “You sure?” 

“Yep. In fact, I think I’m ready for a third,” she says indignantly.

“Well, first of all, you should finish that one,” Niall points out. Harry’s cheeks become pink when she registers the weight of the bottle in her hand. “Second of all, I told you, you’re not throwing up tonight if I can help it.” 

Harry nods her agreement, “Alright, yeah. But I’m fine.” 

“Course you are, Haz.” Niall obliges, kindly. “You ready to go out? We can walk around for a bit?” 

Harry nods, “Sounds good to me.” 

And so the four of them set off for the evening. Niall convinces Harry to down what’s left in her water bottle and pour the rest of her beer into it for the trip. Harry’s annoyed for a moment, this means she’ll have to actually wash this water bottle tomorrow, but all is forgotten when they step outside and Louis finds her way to Harry’s side. 

Harry leans slightly so she hip bumps Louis. She’s relieved that Louis laughs, she has no idea why she did it in the first place. 

“So you really don’t drink much?” Louis asks, sincerely. 

Harry shrugs. “Not really. Never had a reason to.” 

“And what’s your reason now?” 

“Mostly that Niall wants me to,” Harry admits with a nervous giggle. 

Louis smiles too, but as she places one of her hands on Harry’s shoulder, she says, “You know, you don’t have to drink to hang out though, right?” 

Harry nods, and she feels warmer in that moment, with Louis’ concern coming out. “Yeah, she wouldn’t be so adamant if I told her I didn’t want to. It’s just that I get drunk so much faster than she does. Makes me feel like I’m not on her level or something.” 

Louis laughs at that, “Au contraire, it is she who is not on  _ your _ level, love.” 

There’s that word again. She wonders if Louis calls everyone love or if she saves it for special people. She wonders if she’s special. 

Harry smiles at the idea and replies a few seconds late, “True. Niall! Get on my level!” 

Louis laughs loudly at that, and Niall glances back at the two of them, with a suspicious look. 

“So you don’t live on campus, right?” 

Harry shakes her head, “Nah, living with my mom and stepdad. They live like ten minutes from campus, so it was stupid to pay the extra for a shitty dorm.” 

Louis nods. “I feel that. So you’re from around here though?” 

“Yep,” Harry confirms. “We’ve lived here for as long as I can remember, really.” 

“I still can’t believe I never saw you before this,” Louis muses. “What high school did you go to?” 

“North,” Harry shrugs, explanation enough. 

“Oh damn, really? That’s so far though?” 

Harry shrugs. “I never really questioned it, to be honest.” 

“Hm,” Louis replies, thoughtfully. Harry trips a little over something in the pavement, and giggles. 

“Drunk or clumsy?” 

“Definitely clumsy, not all the way drunk,” Harry admits. 

“Here,” Louis says, offering her arm. Harry smiles, sheepishly, and accepts, walking only a little closer than she already had been. 

Harry likes the way their paces match so easily, how kind Louis is, and how nice she smells. 

“What about you? Have you always lived around here?” 

Louis nods. “Yeah, not quite so close as you, but I grew up about thirty minutes away from here.” 

“Where’d you go to high school?” 

Louis chuckles, “Should’ve been North, actually. I went to South East instead.” 

“Did you ever question it?” Harry asks, “That’s also quite the distance.” 

“Requested it, actually.” 

“Oh?” Harry prompts, “Why? Did something happen?” 

Louis keeps her eyes down, biting at her bottom lip. When she shrugs, she takes Harry’s arm with her, and she confesses, “I was, um. Outed there… by a teacher. Wasn’t so safe for me.” 

Harry frowns, her shoulders dropping and her countenance melting with sympathy. 

“I’m so sorry,” she whispers. It’s not enough. 

Louis smiles, but it’s small, possibly a tad self deprecating. “It is what it is. I was lucky I got out of there.” 

“What year was that? I wasn’t there, was I?” 

Louis shakes his head, “It was my freshman year.” 

“How old are you again?” 

“Twenty-two.” 

“Okay, so I was in, like, the seventh grade.” 

It’s important somehow, that Harry knows how close she was to Louis at that time. Though, really, the answer is not at all. She’s disappointed she hadn’t been closer. Harry wants to believe she’d have been right by her side, holding her hand through it. 

As a friend, of course. 

“But enough about that,” Louis says, returning to her playful self. “Liam!” 

She unhooks herself from Harry’s arm and moves her pace to a jog to tap Liam’s shoulder. Louis tells Liam something, but Harry can’t quite hear it. Only hears Liam’s loud giggle right after. Harry’s hands fall to her sides, slowly closing into fists that she squeezes once and lets go. 

It’s jarring, being the center of Louis’ attention, and hanging off her arm one second, and being abandoned the next. Trailing behind her, Harry feels the cold burn of the wind and something like jealousy. She rolls her eyes, and tells herself it’s because these feelings are  _ silly _ . Louis wasn’t about to ditch Liam for her over the course of an hour. She wonders if Liam had been there, during that awful time for Louis. She wonders if Liam comforted her, held her hand, and wiped her tears. The way Harry sort of wishes she could have. 

She remembers then, the contents of her water bottle, and decides to drink the whole thing down in a few gulps. 

“Alright?” Niall asks. Harry hadn’t even noticed that Niall wasn’t in front of her anymore. 

Harry nods, because she is. Even if it really doesn’t feel like it. 

Niall points to their left where, if you listen closely, there’s a steady bass calling. “Let’s go get you another drink.” 

Harry tries her best to shake it off, the ugly vibes emanating around her. As they make their way into the apartment complex, and follow the thumping bass to the source of the booze, Harry tries to focus on the sound, and the way her heart tries to mimic the beat. 

It would help if Louis would stop touching Liam. She keeps putting her head on Liam’s shoulder, or shoving her lightly and laughing. It’s maddening and Harry can’t even really put a name to this feeling. It’s jealousy, but it runs deeper than that. 

Harry finds herself, not necessarily wanting to be touched by Louis, but to have earned that closeness. She wants to fall into Louis’ side with an ease that only comes with a tight-knit friendship. On some level, she still thinks that’s where this is headed. There’s still the idea, the premonition, that Louis is and will be important to her. 

They’ve not known each other long, Harry reminds herself. And besides that, fate will speak for itself. Harry can’t rush matters so important as that. It could also just be the strongest friend crush Harry’s ever had. It feels obsessive, the way she gazes on as Louis mixes herself and Liam a drink, the way she memorizes Louis’ hand gestures when she’s telling a story, and the wild look in her eye when she gets to the most outrageous part. 

“How’s drink number three treating you?” Niall checks in. 

Again, Harry hadn’t registered her presence until she spoke. She jumps a little, and sips her drink to avoid Niall’s eyes.

“You know she likes you, right?” 

The statement feels like it came out of nowhere, though it was very likely warranted by the way Harry’s eyes keep finding Louis across the room. Something about it feels loaded, though. Filled to the brim with expectations Harry hasn’t wanted to consider. 

Harry shrugs, trying for nonchalance. “Doesn’t matter, does it?”

“I don’t know,” Niall says, though it’s clear she knows  _ something _ . “Does it?” 

This anger rises in Harry then, starting from her feet and spreading through her limbs until her ears feel hot. She hates it, the way Niall keeps  _ saying _ things like she knows something, when she knows nothing at all. 

Harry stands up a little straighter to make her exit, and storms away without any explanation. She knows Niall’s confused, but she can’t possibly be any more so than Harry already is. 

Harry’s never been to an apartment in this building, so she’s no idea where she’s going, and has half a mind to just exit the premises, but instead makes her way the hallway, sure she’ll find a bathroom or something. 

She hears someone call her name, likely Niall, following to see what’s upset her. When she makes her way through the hall and finds the bathroom at the end, the last thing she expects is a hand on her shoulder and a soft, “Hey.” 

She turns around so quickly she gives herself vertigo, wondering just how potent this third drink is. 

Louis stands there, with kind eyes, and soft hands, and Harry almost feels like crying. It’s an odd reaction, and maybe she can blame the alcohol, but something in her gut says that her current state has more to do with it. 

“I’m just—” Harry says, hiccuping a little. “I’m using the bathroom.” 

“You look upset,” Louis says. “Are you alright?” 

There’s something in those bright blue eyes, something in the way her thumb treads lightly against Harry’s shoulder, that makes Harry crumble where she stands. Helpless to stop the way her mouth falls into a deep pout, and her eyes well up with tears.

“I’m fine,” she squeaks. 

Louis frowns, “Oh, love.” 

Harry  _ hates _ the way her heart picks up at that. She hates that she’s crying, and she hates that she doesn’t know why she’s this upset. At this rate, the tears fall quickly down her face, and she knows it’s because she’s frustrated. And what’s worse, is that Louis doesn’t seem to mind. Louis just takes her drink and sets it on the bathroom sink, and pulls her into a tight hug. 

It was supposed to be the other way around. It was supposed to be Louis that learned she needed Harry. She’s confused enough as it is, and needing someone she’s only just met feels pathetic. 

Still she hugs Louis right back, and cries, because it’s not like she can help it now that it’s started. Louis smooths her hair as she does, and is just being so damn lovely about the whole thing, saying she’s alright, and shushing her every few minutes, that it sends a new wave of butterflies, and some fresh tears to accompany them. 

After several minutes, she calms down. It feels like she’s been crying for ages, and now she’s just exhausted. She wipes under her eyes, sure her makeup is an absolute mess, and here Louis is, staring at her with concern like her mascara doesn’t make a single difference. 

“Did something happen?” Louis asks gently. 

Harry laughs, wetly. “Not really, no.” 

Louis smiles, and her eyes crinkle a little at the side, and Harry wants to cry all over again, it’s so cute. 

“You just really don’t do alcohol well, do you?” 

Harry sniffs, and shakes her head. She’s not even that drunk, but it works. 

“Look, we can do two things here. We can pretend you’re drunker than you are so Niall will stop handing you drinks. Or I’ll help you tell Niall you’re just not up for it. No shame in that, alright love?” 

Harry feels gooey, and her cheeks are wet, and she sniffs one last time before she nods. “Can you just… walk me to the door? I think I’m just going home.” 

Louis frowns. “By yourself?” 

“Yeah, I’ll be fine. I just don’t really wanna be here anymore.”

“I’ll walk you home, then.” Louis resolves. 

Harry’s heart leaps at that, though she’s quick to reject the offer. “Absolutely not. I won’t go ruining your night.” 

Louis shakes her head quickly, setting a hand on both of Harry’s shoulders. It’s grounding, actually, and Harry forces herself to meet Louis’ eyes. 

“I want to,” she says. It sounds like she means it. 

_ You know she likes you, right? _

Harry shivers a little, and squeezes her eyes shut to push the thought away.  

“Let’s go,” Louis says, pulling Harry back into their bubble. It feels warm, and new, and safe. Harry tries to tell herself not to get used to it. That they have to step outside, where the air smells sweaty, and it’s stifling hot, and Niall is probably waiting for her. 

Louis grabs Harry’s hand, and Harry follows her out anyway. 

Niall and Liam are across the room chatting seriously, and Harry is outrageously curious about what they could be talking about. Louis stops at the front door and releases Harry’s hand. Temporarily, Harry’s unsure what to do with it, it was so comfortable in Louis’ it feels wrong and unsettling to be separated. 

“I’ll be right back, and then we’ll go,” Louis says with a quick wink. From just about anyone else it would feel condescending, but Harry feels reassured. She watches carefully as Louis pushes through the crowd in the room and approaches their friends. 

Niall looks concerned as Louis explains to them what’s happened. Harry’s not sure how much she’s sharing, but regardless, Niall knew how upset she’d been. The insecurity is eating Harry alive as she stands by the door. She places a hand on the knob to anchor herself, the frustration and nervousness she’s feeling is nearly enough to fill her up so she floats away. 

In fact, she’s barely registered that she’s turning the doorknob, so preoccupied with her anger at Niall for thinking she knows everything, her mind and body make their exit without her permission and she finds herself walking down the hall alone. 

It’s not for long, she hears someone jogging from behind her, and decides to slow her pace and allow the person to catch up. She’s relieved to see it’s Louis, as part of her worried that Niall would take some sort of responsibility and walk her home instead. She’d rather walk alone than walk with Niall right now. 

“Alright?” Louis asks. 

“Yeah, was just hot in there.” 

“So you started walking alone?” Louis challenges. 

Harry sighs. “Niall looked worried and it just… I don’t know. I wanted to get out of there.” 

Neither of them says anything to the other the rest of their walk out of the building. It’s silent down the hall, and in the elevator, apart from the ding of the opening doors, and all the way outside. Then it’s wind, and rustling leaves, and night time sounds, that Harry finds soothing. 

It’s chillier than she remembers it being, and she wishes she’d worn a jacket, or at least a heavier cardigan, but when she remembers how hot it had been inside her previous logic makes sense again. 

“So did something happen with Niall?” Louis asks suddenly. 

Harry hums in response, hoping it’s enough a dismissal. She doesn’t know how to tell Louis what had set her off. It feels like it was Louis’ fault in a way, for looking the way she does, and being the sort of magnetic that Harry is outrageously drawn to. Niall only pointed it out. 

“Sorry, I don’t mean to, like, pry,” Louis starts. “I’ve just never seen you so upset before and I… didn’t like it.” 

Her words are hesitant, but kind. There’s a protective edge to them, and Harry almost feels like she’s vibrating, overwhelmed by that kind of attention. 

“It was nothing, really,” Harry pauses, searching for the right censored explanation. “Niall just… she likes to think of me as her protege, right? And sometimes, she just acts like she  _ knows _ something that I don’t, and it drives me nuts because I already know myself. She doesn’t need to like… act like I’m her responsibility and that she needs to help me… develop as a person or, like—” 

She stops, when she realizes how much has tumbled out of her mouth. She purses her lips, sticking her tongue out slightly to wet them, and she wishes she had some chapstick or she wishes that she could turn back the clock and find a better way to explain herself because she’s sure she looks absolutely crazy right about now, and at the  _ very _ least her lips could not be peeling. 

Her mind keeps moving about a mile a minute until she feels a light, slender hand slip into hers, intertwining their fingers. The feeling is extremely grounding, a reassurance she hadn’t realized she needed, and she finds herself staring at the two hands for a few seconds before she looks up at the person who connected them.

Louis is smiling, but there’s a question in her eyes, as if she’s not sure what she’s just done is okay. Harry doesn’t know the right answer, all she knows is that on pure instinct, she squeezes Louis’ hand in hers, hoping she can feel the thanks transfer from her palm to Louis’. 

“I get that,” Louis nods. “I can seriously help you tell Niall that you don’t want to be good at drinking.” 

Harry giggles, “It’s… not really about all that. But thanks.” 

Louis furrows her brow, but doesn’t look back at Harry. She keeps looking straight ahead, probably a good thing, since Harry’s definitely not watching where they’re going, transfixed as she is on Louis’ profile in the moonlight. She shakes herself out of it when she realizes she’s staring, and tries very hard not to take another glance too soon. 

“What’s it about, then?” 

And that’s just the dreaded question to end all questions isn’t it? 

“Don’t know,” Harry mutters, softly. “It’s just a feeling, I think.” 

“Just general condescension?” 

“Something like that, yeah.” Harry sighs, “It’s almost like… my older sister, when I got to high school. She was all proud and shit and every time I mentioned some class I was struggling with she always advised me with this arrogance like, ‘Oh been there, done that. Poor, young, lost soul, what would you do without me.’ Only she never  _ actually  _ gave me any advice? Just told me that she had been through the same thing. It was so stupid and like…” 

“Not at  _ all _ validating.” 

“Exactly!” Harry says, a small thrill goes through her spine, at being heard and understood. “Like somehow not being the first to endure it made it less important? Like whatever I was struggling with just didn’t matter at all.” 

“That’s stupid,” Louis says. “And Niall makes you feel like that?” 

“Not exactly like that, no. But… it’s similar. Only slightly different because she won’t… tell me what it is?” 

“Have you asked?” 

Harry stops to think about that, even though she knows the answer is no. Immediately her mind flashes to the words she may not have been meant to hear. 

_ I don’t think she’s realized some things yet .  _

And she knows the context. She can hear the entire conversation play in her head with perfect clarity. 

“No,” she admits, softly. 

“Why not?” Louis prods, gently, with another squeeze of her palms. 

A strong gust of wind pushes past them, and Harry can almost imagine it sweeping her away from here. It leaves her head spinning, and she wonders if she can push the words out, the wind will carry those away instead. 

“I’m afraid of it,” Harry whispers.

Louis hums, likely to show she’s listening, but she doesn’t question any further than that. Harry is endlessly grateful for that small gesture. 

They walk in silence a while, and Harry realizes they should have turned a while ago in the direction of her car, but Louis wouldn’t know that because she thought she was walking her home. Harry tugs at Louis’ hand so that they turn around, and Louis glances over at her with questioning eyes. 

“My car is at Niall’s,” she explains. “So we should go this way.” 

Louis’ eyes are alight with understanding, and she goes easily. 

Harry thinks about what it must have been like for Louis to be outed. She wonders if Louis talks about it much, if it’s something everyone knows about her, or if she only shares it with a select group of people. In turn, Harry wonders if she can consider herself as the select, or if she’s just the last to know. 

They’re headed toward a group of people on their new route. Harry doesn’t know what they’re up to, but they’re guys and they’re big. She stands a little closer to Louis, who releases her hand to wrap an arm around her waist. Harry’s heart pitter patters a little harder in her chest from the onset of fear that comes with running into a strange group of men, but Harry acknowledges that among her heavy heart beat is a niggling in her stomach from the close contact. She takes a deep breath, and Louis gives her side a little squeeze as she leads them past. 

Harry thinks they’re in the clear until she hears a deep voice call after them from behind. 

She hears Louis swear under her breath, but she turns around and waves hello. Harry keeps her eyes only on Louis, sort of in awe of her bravery. Harry was ready and inclined to just keep walking, leaving them unacknowledged. 

“What’s up, Tommo!” 

“Not much!” she calls from the little distance they managed. “Just walking home.” 

The guy chuckles, but there’s a dark edge to it. “Found someone new to flip, then?” 

He gestures to Harry, and her heart sinks to her stomach. She’s not quite sure what he’s talking about, but she can tell it isn’t good. 

“Fuck off, Troy,” Louis says, totally unamused. 

She turns around again and pats Harry’s shoulder lightly, “Let’s go.” 

“Once a moody dyke, always a moody dyke, am I right?” Troy calls after them, his words growing louder with every step of distance they put between them. 

Harry impulsively turns her head to glance at him, but she gets stuck on Louis’ profile. There’s a rage in her eyes she’s never seen before, and a separation that Harry hadn’t realized was necessary. 

She knows why. She’s heard that word before. Louis definitely doesn’t like it, and for that reason, as well as how squeamish it makes Harry feel, she doesn’t think Louis deserved to hear it. 

Harry is terrified—of those guys, and that word, and the rage Louis is feeling because of it. But something in her own rage on Louis’ behalf scoops her in its clutches, and Harry uses it for a single stroke of bravery. She reaches out and takes Louis’ hand—just as Louis had done for her.  

She takes Louis’ hand and intertwines their fingers, so that her palm is placed gently on top of Louis’. 

Louis bites her lip and hesitates before she gives Harry’s hand a gentle squeeze. 

The silent thanks rings loud and clear for Harry as they continue their walk hand in hand. 

They make it to Niall’s soon after that, and Harry finds her keys tucked away in her bag, pressing the unlock button on the key fob to find her car exactly where she’d parked it. 

She’d been forced to let go of Louis’ hand to do so, and it’s alarming how much she wishes she had reason to hold it again. She’s not ready to say goodbye. 

“Want a ride?” Harry asks. 

“I live in the building just over there,” Louis says, perhaps with a hint of disappointment. “But, um. Thanks for letting me walk you.” 

“Thank you for walking me,” Harry says, softly. 

Louis kicks a small rock on the pavement and looks back up, meeting Harry’s gaze head on. 

Little else petrifies Harry the way Louis’ dazzling blue eyes do, but this time, one glance at them gives her the push she needs to return some light to them. “Hey, Lou?” 

The nickname feels weird on her tongue, but it’s worth it for the way Louis’ smile returns at the sound. “Yeah?” 

“I think you’re so brave,” Harry admits. “I… I admire you a lot.” 

Louis smile falters, only minisculely, but in its place is something much more serious. 

“Trust me, Harry,” Louis says, glancing from the floor to Harry and back again. “I know you’re afraid. But you’re much braver than I am.” 

Harry doesn’t like the way she says it. She doesn’t like that the compliment is coated with her own self deprecation. 

“I think that’s your fault,” Harry says, earning Louis’ eye contact. “Doesn’t matter what you think. You’re still magic to me.” 

 

___

 

_ August 9, 2018 _

Zayn has never understood, and will likely never try to. That’s why Louis finds his company so relieving. She can ask him whatever the fuck she wants, and all he’ll do is hand her another blunt, and tell her the universe holds the answers. 

“Why won’t the universe answer me?” 

“Because you’re not important, Tommo. None of us are.” 

Then he’ll return to his book or his painting, and neither of them will say anything to the other for hours at a time. 

Louis will smoke, and she’ll lie down, and sometimes, if she’s lucky, she’ll fall into a long dreamless sleep. 

But only if she’s lucky.

Otherwise, she’ll lie there, and she’ll stare at the light too long, and then close her eyes and watch as that light manages to follow her into the dark, flashing incessantly behind her eyelids. 

Sometimes, if she keeps her eyes closed too long, and she moves her head just right, the shape of the light will morph itself into that familiar silhouette, and it’s like she’s right there, above her face. Her soft curves, and the swell of her bum, and her full pink lips. Then the light turns just the right green and Louis’ eyes open so quickly she forgets where she is. 

Her heart will beat a little harder and then she’ll hear the familiar sound of paint in a can, and she’ll exhale slowly. 

It’s the only peace she’s found. Today is no different. 

She knows today that there’s not a chance in hell that if she sleeps it will be dreamless. Not when the last time she heard Harry’s voice, even in a chipper recording, was too soon. Her mind has conjured too many memories to taunt her in her subconscious. When Louis remembers she’s only a phone call away it feels like so many times before, when Louis would recoil from her touch, as though Harry could burn her. 

Harry never understood, even from the beginning, how afraid Louis is. When Louis reacted to anything poorly, Harry was quick to defend her, and even sooner extending a hand to touch, to heal and mend. She never quite grasped that Louis was never afraid to be burned, only of doing the burning. 

She’d been certain at the start, that Harry would touch her and gasp, immediately remorseful at the attempt to feel an open flame. 

Every time Louis closes her eyes she’s burning, and Harry’s right there, nursing the flame. Usually with her eager kitten licks, her hesitant fingers. Louis can always see her so clearly, with wild eyes, and blown pupils, and her curly hair matted in the back from lying down and taking whatever Louis could give her. 

It was never really about the sex for them. It always ran deeper than that. But every touch built Louis’ flame higher and higher, and she was sure one day she’d combust and take Harry out with it. And Harry would realize that this… insane chemistry, this otherworldly connection, wasn’t worth all the other stuff. 

During every comedown, Harry would burn a few moments, and Louis would watch as she questioned with her eyes why this was different than every other experience she’d had. Louis would observe the way she’d seek out Louis’ hand, always bringing it to her lips moments later, and she would kiss it, and rub it softly with her thumb. 

And that fire would fade, but Louis would remain burning. Always wondering when it wouldn’t be enough anymore. When she might stop burning bright so that Harry could see. Even a lantern lighting the way, contains dangers, if it breaks, or just stops being useful. And Louis always felt much wilder than a lantern. She was more like a torch. 

“Hey, Lou,” Zayn says from across the room. “Hand me that green paint, would you?” 

Louis squints a little as she turns her head to face Zayn. “Where is it?” 

“It’s on the floor right next to you.” 

She flips onto her side and reaches to the floor to grip the first paint can she can find. She tosses it to Zayn, and rubs her eyes, surprised to find them wetter than she’d even realized. 

“How long have I been crying?” she asks out loud. 

“Ask the universe,” Zayn replies. 

 

___

 

_ September 27, 2017 _

Harry thinks about walking home with Louis a lot in the next few days. She thinks of Louis’ hand in hers, and how scared she was, and mostly she thinks of that ugly word. How cutting it was, and how Troy had the audacity to say it twice in one sentence. She thinks of the way Louis had released her hand. She thinks of Niall and the question that had prompted it all.

Niall had since apologized, and Harry had forgiven her of the instance, offering apologies of her own, but the question still joined the demoralizing chorus of taunts in her mind. Another question had forged its way in there, and admittedly, it’s taken the forefront of thoughts swimming up there that go straight to her stomach. The unease she feels is so strong, that one day at lunch with Niall, the question escapes her. 

“What’s it mean to flip someone?” 

Niall looks up from her bowl of soup with furrowed brows and a small shrug, “I mean… in what context?” 

Harry avoids Niall’s eyes, distracting herself by chipping the paint on her fingernails. “Like… someone asked Louis last weekend if she found someone new to flip? And they, um. They gestured to me.” 

The corners of Niall’s mouth tug downwards, and Harry knows it must be bad when she pushes her soup away for a moment. She folds her hands on top of the table and meets Harry’s eyes. Harry searches her face for answers, and braces herself for the worst before Niall comes out with it. 

“So, what I’m about to tell you is really shitty,” Niall starts. “But some people around here… they call Louis a spatula. It’s a joke. It’s not really a funny one, but Louis encouraged it at the start, so it’s here to stay.” 

“What’s it mean?” 

“It means that Louis has a reputation around here for flipping straight girls. As in, they’re drawn to her and she takes them to bed and they realize they’re gayer than they thought.” 

Harry’s mouth falls open at that. “She doesn’t like… force—”

“Oh god, no,” Niall interrupts. “Not at all. I, um. Well.”

Niall’s face grows a little red then, and she scratches the back of her neck before she admits, “Louis is a big part of the reason I realized I’m bi.”  

Harry’s eyes go wide and she sputters a bit, “So you, and Louis…” 

Niall hesitates, but eventually she nods her head. “Yeah, once.” 

“And you thought you were straight before?” Harry asks, because she can’t quite believe it. 

“Thought I was straight as a board till I met Louis. There’s just… something about her, you know?” Niall pulls her soup bowl back towards her, and scoops some into her spoon. “And for the record, she never forced me into anything. If that were her game, you would already know it.” 

Niall eats her soup and Harry sits back, astounded at the new information. 

“Can I ask something else?” 

Niall hums her consent. 

“What did you mean when you told me she likes me?” 

Niall sighs, “I really shouldn’t have said that. I thought we were over—”

“I’m not mad,” Harry clarifies. “But I am… I’m confused. And I want to know what you meant.”

“I just meant… you’re always just kind of, staring at her? And—” Niall huffs, possibly frustrated. “I’ve just noticed that you… maybe, are a little drawn to her. Which is totally normal. She’s one of those people with those weird magnetic fields that sucks you in. But you also don’t need to work so hard to impress her. She already likes you.” 

“Has it seemed like I’m trying to impress her?” 

“Not exactly,” Niall admits. “I can just… tell that you want to.” 

“How?” Harry asks. It’s mildly disturbing, how Niall finds it so easy to read her. She wonders what else she’s laid bare for everyone to see. 

“It’s just a look,” Niall shrugs. “I know it well.” 

“Oh,” Harry replies, dumbly. 

Later that night, when she’s alone in her room, she stares in the mirror and asks herself a question. 

“Am I gay?” 

There’s a head rush that comes with saying it out loud, even as a question, a  _ possibility _ , and her instinct is to shush herself, to push it away, and to pretend that this  _ never _ happened. 

Instead, she stares harder. She inspects herself in the mirror, her own bright green eyes, and the curve of her nose, and the places in her cheeks where dimples appear when she’s smiling. She bites at her pink chapped lips, and she imagines what would happen if Louis Tomlinson tried to kiss her. 

Harry’s fingers find her lips, in a silent moment of wonder and reverie, and her knees wobble as she’s assaulted with the image of Louis, right here in her bedroom, with her light blue eyes, and her gentle hands, and Harry feels an overwhelming rush and longing to reach out and touch. She imagines Louis stepping towards her slowly, treading lightly with her fingers on her cheek, where Harry’s dimple may appear, and whether Harry would like it if Louis’ thin lips found hers. 

With her eyes closed, she imagines Louis standing very close, and she finds the wait to be agonizing, but when she goes to close the distance, there’s no one besides herself in her bedroom. 

Harry lets out a breath she hadn’t even realized she’d been holding. She feels tingly, and hot, and absolutely terrified, but the next time she looks in the mirror, she sees someone she knows intimately. She sees that girl with bright green eyes, and unruly hair, and parted lips, and she loses her breath a moment, because while she knows that girl inside and out, she hasn’t been honest with herself until… well, now. 

“I might be gay.” 

 

___

 

_ August 14, 2018 _

Louis slams her car door shut and pulls her seatbelt around herself, quickly fastening it. She knows there’s no real reason to hurry, but it feels urgent that she do this now. She turns the keys in the ignition and wastes no time before pulling the car out of her parking space, and hitting the gas the moment she reaches the open road. 

It’s still sweltering outside, but Louis likes driving with the windows open. She likes the wind on her face, because no matter how quickly she approaches each sign or street light, there’s nothing quite like feeling the speed of your journey. It’s a physical reminder that she’s moving, she’s going somewhere. And currently, she could use as many reminders of that as she can. 

They say that time heals all wounds, and there’s truth to that, but Louis’ always felt more at ease with movement. A physical separation. It makes her feel like the reason she’s able to move past anything at all is her own doing. Not because of the all elusive concept of time. 

She’d worked so hard to move far away from Harry. Louis had only caved once since they ended things before graduation. It was a true moment of relapse when Louis realized that in all her movement, she’d gone in a circle, and Harry had always been in the center. 

She resents the memory of speaking to her voicemail message like it would listen, like it would talk back. She had muttered a pathetic “I miss you” into the receiver. It had felt so weak to admit it, until it was over. Then it just felt true.  

Louis realizes now that she really had hoped Harry would answer. 

She thinks of it as her fatal flaw. Hope. For all her skepticism, and sarcasm, and sardonic tendencies, she still dares to hope that she’ll be enough. That the mess she is and may always be, will prove to be worthy of love, and learn to love in return. 

Louis reminds herself, hope doesn’t heal wounds. Hope doesn’t clear the mind of everything that’s gone wrong before. Hope is this flitty, useless thing that only makes the fall feel harder. 

So, Louis keeps her foot on the gas and she drives to a place where she used to go. She needs to  _ move _ because time has let her down, and won’t be enough to separate her from this pathetic incident. 

Louis arrives at a lake Harry took her too once. Harry had said it was a nice place to just be. Louis knows it’s foolish to run to her ghost. But she’s done a lot of foolish things in the last month, and she needs a place to think.

Besides that, Louis knows her movements are only a prolonged downward spiral. She often thinks that she’ll orbit around Harry for the rest of her life, and maybe after too. 

Louis remembers when Harry brought her here, how it had been flooded, and the cement boat ramp had been halfway covered in water. The water’s definitely gone down since then, but Louis still likes the way the path stays slanted, leading straight into the water. She decides to take the walk, and has a seat on the pavement just beside the murky lake. 

It feels stupid, because she’d normally only consider asking the universe anything at all when she’s high. But this morning she’d woken up with more tears on her face and she wondered if maybe she should go somewhere where the universe could hear her better. 

Only now she’s here, and she doesn’t know what to ask. 

She looks out at the horizon, and part of her expected to be filled with emotion. And she is, but it’s primarily annoyance. She thought she’d get here, and the wind would blow, and she’d feel this inexplicable reassurance. She thought she’d feel settled and free and far away from everything terrible. But she brought it with her, and she realizes that everywhere else, the universe could hear her just fine. 

Still, underneath the annoyance, and the accompanying bitterness, there’s something else nestled in her chest, and it swells up like a balloon every time she remembers it. She misses Harry. 

Louis misses her in all the big and little things. She misses the gleam in her eye when she saw someone she knows and loves, she misses when that glimmer and shine was directed at her. She misses how she’d put her hair up and pull it back down, and put it back up within three minutes. She misses tucking a curl behind her ears when she slept, and she misses the way it would get caught in her mouth when she was talking, always sputtering and acting as though it was choking her, even if it had only rested on her lips a second. 

Louis misses the sound of her voice—particularly the way it says her name—and she misses hearing about Harry’s day, and the crease in her forehead when she sees something particularly troubling on the news. She misses the way her toes would curl when Louis touched her just right, and the pace of her breathing when she was close to finishing. 

Mostly, she misses how quick Harry was to say lovely things about her and how her hands, and her voice, and her presence could comfort Louis like nothing else. Louis always worried too much about whether it was real, always wondering if Harry would meet a boy and change her mind. But the moment Harry’s arms wrapped around her, she felt safe. Maybe not totally reassured, but protected and secure in the moment. In knowing that, she had Harry for now. 

She wipes a few more tears off the side of her face and exhales quickly, frustrated with her emotions, and downright angry at the universe for having the audacity not to explain why she has them. 

The universe is a bitch, and Louis intends to tell Zayn exactly that if he asks. He probably won’t, but Louis is ready with an answer if he does. 

 

___

 

_ October 3, 2017 _

Harry doesn’t speak a word of the big realization she’d had last week. She keeps the confession small enough to fit in a locket, and wears it close to her chest. Once in awhile feels the weight of it sink into the skin there. 

Harry had been so sure she’d known herself, and she had. She does. She’s just disappointed in herself for letting something so big go unnoticed for so long. Her mind keeps returning to that night, drifting off to sleep against Niall’s shoulder. That moment they both seemed to know something about Harry that she didn’t know herself. Harry’s gut says, if it was this. But, if so, how had it been obvious to them and not her? 

It seemed unfair somehow. That she could be this way and project that to other people without her own knowledge. Like a betrayal, only the accused is herself. 

It fosters a bitterness in Harry she hadn’t been expecting. A self hatred that feels unnatural to her. It makes her skin crawl, and she isn’t entirely sure why. She’s never considered herself homophobic. She’s been supportive of the celebrities that come out, and even went to a gay bar once and wasn’t at all uncomfortable there. She doesn’t avoid people who are flamboyant, or women who present themselves in a masculine way. She’s always believed in equal rights and would never hold something like this against another person. 

All these things have felt normal to Harry, and it’s troubling that the moment she sees some small queer light trying to break through her own heart and chest, she’s doing everything she can to patch up the holes, and cover it up. 

She put on lipstick this morning, and an extra coat of mascara and she told herself it was because she was in the mood. Deep in the recesses of her mind, she knows she’s overcompensating. She knows this is an attempt to exude traditional femininity. 

Still, the extra weight on her eyelashes isn’t enough to keep her gaze from finding Louis, every single time. She pulls her eyes away before she can get caught, but the motion makes her sick. She knows she can’t help this. And if she were as accepting as she thought she was, this wouldn’t be a problem. 

Harry’s problems are made a million times worse when she looks up again and finds Louis walking straight towards her. 

Louis takes the seat beside her, casually fiddling with the hair that rests on her forehead. 

“Hey,” she says, as she turns away from Harry and leans down toward her book bag. 

Harry’s not quite sure what’s happening, if it’s anything at all. Her only response is her watchful eye, as Louis begins pulling out a book and notebook. She then reaches back in for a small bag, and sets it on top of her notebook to unzip and retrieve a pencil. 

Harry watches the entire thing, taking a peek at Louis’ focused eyes, flipping her text book open to find a specific page. Harry finds her eyes trailing down Louis’ arms, admiring her golden skin. It looks so soft, and Harry considers only very briefly finding out herself. 

Louis lifts her face only slightly in Harry’s direction, and when she catches her staring, her eyes sparkle, but she immediately looks away. Harry’s cheeks flush furiously, as she also removes her gaze and returns it to her own textbook. She only looks up once more to find Louis is still looking down, but she’s smiling. 

Harry remembers that little light trying to flash it’s way through her heart, and she imagines with each little pitter patter, it’s breaking through the glass there. And when she catches a glimpse of Louis’ smile, the flashing feels more like a beam—an enduring light that will undoubtedly burst its way through. Judging by just how warm Harry’s cheeks feel, and the way she can’t contain her own grin to match, she doesn’t think it will be long. 

Harry takes a drink from her water bottle to give herself something to do with her hands, even though resuming her  _ studies _ would be a more reasonable option. But all focus is out the window now, so long as Louis remains in the seat about four inches away from her. If they were on a couch, the likelihood that their thighs would touch would increase by at least ten percent. 

Harry would actually roll her eyes at herself, if it wouldn’t be so conspicuous. She’s already certain and terrified that Louis can  _ feel _ her affections emanating from every single part of her. 

“Everything okay?” Louis asks her, eyes gently inquiring. 

Harry doesn’t miss a beat before replying, “Yeah, of course. Why?” 

“Just wondering, I guess. You’ve spent a lot of time alone, lately,” Louis says, simply. 

Harry wonders how it could be that simple at all. She purses her lips and asks, “Have I?” 

Louis nods. “From what I can see, yeah.” 

“You in the habit of following me around?” Harry asks, daringly. It feels weird, to call her out on something that Harry feels so guilty of herself with her hopeless wandering eyes. 

Louis laughs quietly. “I guess, I uh, I just pay attention.” 

“To me?” Harry asks, and hopes the confirmation doesn’t sound as important as it is. 

Louis hesitates, keeping her eyes low, away from Harry’s but a barely there smile still rests on her pretty lips. She leans all the way back in her seat and admits, “Yeah, I do.” 

Harry almost sighs in relief, because for just a second, it feels like maybe she isn’t alone in this. It feels like there’s a small chance that Louis’ eyes also search for her first in every room. Harry immediately scolds herself for wondering so, because even if it were true, Harry has no clue what to do with it. She doesn’t know what to do with all these new feelings, or with this crippling fear that maybe she’s not who she thought she was or that she’s not who she thinks she is now. 

Nothing makes sense, and the sudden onslaught of her own confusion is enough to bring tears to Harry’s eyes too quickly for her to swallow them back. 

“Hey,” Louis whispers, a hand open and ready for Harry to take sits on the table. “Are you okay?”

Harry stares at Louis’ hand, and she wonders how long the invitation will be there for her to accept. 

She wipes at her eyes a little bit and pushes her hair out of her face, tossing it behind both shoulders as she sighs. “I’m just going through some stuff,” she admits. “I’ve been avoiding Niall too if it makes you feel any better.” 

Louis frowns. “It doesn’t, actually.” 

Harry looks up from the table to find Louis staring at her, eyes lit with concern, and her hand remains in Harry’s reach on the table. 

“You know, when you’re dealing with shit, good friends don’t mind listening.” 

Harry slumps a little in defeat at that, “Yeah, I know.” 

“Then why have you been avoiding us?” 

Harry can’t help but notice the way Louis lumped herself into this hypothetical group of friends Harry has. She tries to swallow down the thudding of her heart as she imagines what confiding in Louis would look like. She remembers how she’d stood in her room, hoping, wishing, praying Louis was there to kiss her and opening her eyes only to find the truth. 

Her cheeks grow warm again at the thought and she doesn’t look up at Louis when she admits, “It’s just not easy to talk about is all. Not sure I’m ready.” 

Harry can feel the way this moment is lifted. In the silent interlude, it feels like they both have something to say, lying in wait, on the tip of their tongues. Harry’s is weighed down, it’s not fighting so hard to escape, but it feels like Louis might say something, and in turn, break something. Instead she hears the moment Louis swallows it back. She slouches a little and actually reaches for Harry’s hand this time. 

“You don’t have to talk about anything, okay? But like… isolating yourself isn’t good either. Wanna do something tonight? We can just turn on a movie, we don’t have to talk about anything you don’t want.”

“I’d like that.” 

They make their plans and go their separate ways. Harry to class, and Louis to who knows where. And Harry realizes once she’s seated toward the back of the lecture hall that she has no idea what she’d been thinking. She’s going to spend time alone, with Louis, at her apartment. How is she supposed to behave? What will they talk about? What sort of ridiculous joke will Louis make to turn Harry’s cheeks bright red, and how soon will that little queer beam of light break open her chest and shine for Louis and everyone else to see. 

Harry’s not sure which is the worst scenario—everyone knowing, or just Louis. All she knows is that she doesn’t have it in her to keep secrets for long. Especially if Louis sits a little too close. If an imaginary Louis standing close enough to touch is enough to send Harry’s heart racing, she’s really not sure how she’ll contain herself in real life. 

Of course, who’s to say Louis will choose the spot next to her. She could pick the seat across the room. Come to think of it, Harry doesn’t even know the layout of her apartment. Does she even have a couch? Or is it all individual seating? 

_ Anything _ could happen. 

Lecture was spent panicking. The ride home, she’d been devising ways to get out of it. Once Harry made it to her bedroom, she shut her door behind her and immediately began rummaging through her closet for the appropriate attire. She turned down dinner, and eventually decided not to re-apply the lipstick and head to Louis’ in an old, comfortable sweater and jeans instead. 

She feels cute, and she feels comfortable, and even that isn’t enough to stop her hands from shaking once she makes it to Louis’ door. 

Harry knocks lightly, and takes a few calming breaths. This isn’t a big deal. She and Louis are friends after all, and friends hang out. It’s normal, and it’s fine. 

Still, when Louis swings the door open, Harry’s eyes get a little wider, and it’s somehow harder to breathe. 

“Hi,” Louis greets, cheerfully. “Come on in.” 

Harry smiles sheepishly, tugging at the sleeves of her sweater, self consciously. Harry watches as Louis moves across the room, her movements fluid and easy. Something in her confident stride always makes it difficult for Harry to look away. Her small, curvy frame has Harry wishing she was just behind her, with hands on those hips. Louis moves like she’s in stilettos and a short black skirt, and Harry is embarrassed at how the image makes her heart beat a little faster and her mouth go dry. 

Since this afternoon, she’s changed into some tight, light wash jeans, and a giant sweatshirt that hangs off one of her shoulders. Harry took notice to distract from the previous image, but it would seem this doesn’t actually help the issue. It only worsens, as Harry wonders if Louis would let her kiss that spot between her neck and shoulder. 

Harry tries to shake herself out of it, but so far all that works to distract her is to stare at the brightly coloured rug on her living room floor. 

“You can sit down, if you want,” Louis suggests, gesturing to the kitchen table. It feels weirdly formal to do so, though Louis is casual as ever, filling the tea kettle and starting it on the stove 

Harry folds her hands on the table, and watches as Louis opens her refrigerator door, leaning to look inside. 

_ Don’t stare at her butt, don’t be a creep, stop acting so  _ gay _ , Harry. _

She hates how the word sounds in her head. She hates that she’s scolding herself for this thing she can’t help, but it’s a  _ lot _ . All the thoughts running through her mind, the new and old from the last few weeks feel like they’re hot to the touch. Harry doesn’t like to dwell on them long, but being with Louis makes that… difficult. 

It’s like admitting that she’s attracted to girls, to Louis specifically, has opened a secret portal that’s collected data for actual years and now it’s all spilling out. Harry is mortified at the idea of Louis knowing, even though she knows she shouldn’t be. Or doesn’t have to be. If anything, she’s lucky that she’s not experiencing this with someone she knows is straight. That should be some consolation to her, but it’s not. 

It’s not because she still feels like the creepy lesbo all the girls were worried about in locker rooms. She feels like the fact that she’s feeling this way in secret makes it shameful, and regardless of Louis’ own sexual identity,  she doesn’t deserve to be objectified. Is that what Harry’s doing? 

God, she doesn’t know. She just wants to sit down, but she already is, and sinking lower into her chair would be far too conspicuous. 

“You seem nervous,” Louis speculates, setting a small plate with cheese cubes and crackers on the table.  

“Nervous?” Harry asks, twiddling her thumbs where they rest of the table. “Why would I be nervous?”

“Dunno,” Louis shrugs, popping a cheese cube in her mouth. “But are you?” 

Harry deflates a little, she wants to maintain some sort of dignity about her. She’s already so ashamed. 

“I guess, I’ve been wondering,” Louis shrugs a little dismissively, when Harry doesn’t reply. And there’s a touch of sadness in her eyes when she asks, “Do  _ I _ make you nervous?” 

Louis’ eyes are piercing, staring straight into Harry’s waiting for an answer. Harry’s palms are sweaty, and she’s vaguely aware of how quickly she’s bouncing her knee under the table. This is it, isn’t it? Louis can feel the  _ gay _ from a mile away, there’s no way she can’t sense it now. 

Harry thinks about lying, but knows at this point she can’t do that without choking on her words, or squeaking them out. A dead giveaway, time and time again. 

So instead, she gives a meek nod, and confesses, “A little.” 

Louis frowns, but she seems to be deep in thought. Harry can’t bear the idea that she’s just made her sad, but she’s comforted by the way Louis reaches to touch Harry’s knee. 

“Is this about what happened that night? With those guys?” 

Harry furrows her brow trying to imagine what she could possibly be referencing. She makes eye contact with Louis for some kind of hint, and it’s that look in her eye, expectant and scared. It reminds her of the only other time she’s ever thought Louis was afraid. Her eyes widen at the memory and she shakes her head quickly, though still a touch delayed.

“Absolutely not,” she clarifies. “No.” 

Louis exhales quickly, seemingly relieved, “Okay… well, you just. I guess it felt like you’d been avoiding me? Before today? And I was really worried that you...”

“Were a homophobe?” 

Louis bites at her bottom lip, and waits a second before nodding. 

“No,” Harry reassures her, “I don’t think there’s anything wrong with who you are, regardless of who you’re attracted to.” 

Harry’s stomach turns as she says the words she so desperately wants to be true. She really means them in regards to Louis. It’s herself she’s having a hard time accepting.

“Well, thanks. But… can I ask why?” 

“Why what?” Harry asks, fiddling with her thumbs. 

“Well, I guess...I know you said you were avoiding everyone. But, why me?” 

Oh god. Harry doesn’t have the slightest clue how to answer this one, so she opts for a lie. 

“I wasn’t really meaning to,” she squeaks. No one’s ever said she lies  _ well _ . “Just been busy. Lots of studying to do, and ya know, my mom likes me home at a certain time to feed the cat.” 

Louis wets her lips a little before pushing the plate toward Harry’s place at the table. “Want some? It’ll give you some time to find a better lie to tell.” 

Harry pouts because she knew Louis would be able to tell. Harry’s mom doesn’t even  _ have _ a cat. She wants to snap her fingers and go to an alternate universe where she can be honest with herself and others and also be a cool person in general. 

“What is it then?” Louis sighs, “Because I just… well, I thought we were friends. And like, you have to admit, that night was… weird. I get why you would wanna keep your distance.”

Harry shakes her head quickly, “Honestly, no. That was… scary. I’ll admit. But it’s not why I’ve been avoiding you.” 

The tea kettle screams from across the room, and Louis dismisses herself to pour the water into a mug. She doesn’t ask Harry if she wants any, simply pours a second cup and sets it in front of her. It’s a sweet gesture, and Harry feels herself becoming more comfortable—she feels welcomed. Despite the difficult conversation, it almost feels like Louis is trying to comfort her. 

She tries not to let herself think this is the same way a cobra goes in for the kill. 

A gentle, warm embrace... a mug of tea. Same difference, really. 

“What is it then? My fabulous reputation?” Louis jokes, though there may be a hint of hurt or frustration in her tone. Harry can’t quite tell. All she knows is that Louis is laughing, but she doesn’t mean it, and she doesn’t like the sound. 

Louis quiets down a moment, and clutches her mug tighter with her damn adorable sweater paws, and sips her tea before she admits, “I know what they say. And I’m sure you’ve heard by now.” 

Harry nods sheepishly, “Yeah, I, erm. Well, Niall told me. But that’s not why either. It’s honestly just… me. I needed some space from people in general.” 

Louis nods her understanding, and smiles, a touch embarrassed, as she replies, “I get that. But like… just for the record, I, Louis Tomlinson, solemnly swear not to make you gay by association.” 

Harry chokes a little on her spit, but laughs and her reply comes tumbling out of her mouth, “It’s a little late for that.” 

The silence that ensues immediately after Harry’s answering remark is mortifying. Louis’ awkward snort is even  _ worse _ . 

Harry blinks her eyes quickly, stunned. She honestly can’t believe this just happened. She’d been so worried that Louis would pick up the vibe from her, and here she’s literally just spat it out like it’s nothing. 

Harry’s beyond thinking,  _ clearly _ , and she does what she’s wanted to do since she sat in this damn chair, and just sinks lower into it. Her back slams against it, and she proceeds to slide slowly but surely to the floor. She doesn’t have it in her to be embarrassed, she’s already shared the only thing she had to hide. There’s no dignity left for her. 

Harry ends up under the table, twisting as she leaves the chair completely for the floor. She rests her face on the cold kitchen floor, and thinks, pathetically, it feels good on her very warm cheeks. 

It’s only seconds, before she hears Louis’ chair squeak against the floor, and she sees Louis squat to the floor. Harry finds Louis’ painfully kind eyes pointed in her direction, and she groans a little, well and truly embarrassed. 

Louis smirks a little. “So is this a tea talk or a wine talk then?” 

Harry whines, and a large strand of her hair catches on her lips when she begins to reply. She sputters a little, and wonders if it’s possible for this moment to get  _ any _ worse. She rolls so she’s lying on her back on Louis’ kitchen floor before she replies, “Tea for now, please. No reason to embarrass me further.” 

Louis giggles a bit and returns to her refrigerator. “You should probably get up. I don’t remember the last time we mopped the floor in here.” 

“I think I’ll stay here on the dirty floor, thanks.” 

Harry hears the sound of glass being set on the table, and she sighs, “I told you, tea was fine.” 

“You don’t have to drink it.” Louis replies, easily. “It’s mostly for me.” 

Harry squints her eyes shut tight. Louis knows for sure now, so is she upset? Harry couldn’t really blame her if she was. Harry didn’t  _ ask _ to be the next girl falling all over herself for Louis, but Louis doesn’t ask for this to keep happening to her. And maybe, that’s the most difficult part to process. Harry’s not sure if she’s even really gay? Is she just gay for Louis like the others were? Is her sexual identity crisis completely unwarranted? A fluke? 

Maybe she needs that wine after all. 

“Pour me a glass would you?” Harry requests, pitifully. 

“Already did, love.” Louis chirps. “Wanna join me up here?” 

Harry sighs, one last sound of resignation before she sits up, only barely avoiding hitting her head. She scoots out from under the table and stands, before she hangs her head in embarrassment and takes her seat. 

Harry’s not really sure what to say. Though, there’s literally nothing else to lose, she knows it’s already out there. She can’t take it back, and if there’s nothing she can say to remove herself from this situation, then there may be nothing worth saying at this point. 

Luckily, it’s Louis that breaks the silence. 

“Okay, first of all. This is a zero judgement zone. I promise.” Louis says, lifting her wine glass to her lips, and sipping daintily. She sighs, reminding Harry of the heaviness of this situation. 

Harry sits a little straighter in her seat and nods her head. “Thanks.” 

“Course,” Louis says without hesitation. “Second, of all, we can proceed two different ways here. The choice is entirely yours, and again, this is a zero judgment zone, so whatever you choose is absolutely fine.” 

Harry swallows thickly, entirely too nervous compared to Louis’ calm and collected demeanor. She nods again, wondering what her options possibly could be. 

“Option one. I told you that you weren’t obligated to tell me what was bothering you tonight. That we would just hang out, so if you don’t wanna talk about it, you don’t have to. We can turn on a movie, drink our wine, and pretend this didn’t happen.” 

Harry bites her lip, a bittersweet feeling resting low in her stomach. It’s nice to have an out. But she wonders if Louis would prefer to pretend it didn’t happen. She can’t help but feel that squirmy, self conscious feeling, that this is too much for Louis too fast. 

“Option two. You can tell me whatever you want, and I will listen and keep filling your wine glass. The choice is yours, but regardless, I say we move this to the living room because my couch is infinitely more comfortable than this.” Louis grins and her eyes sparkle as she teases, “Also, there’s nothing for you to hide under in there.” 

Harry makes another noise of embarrassment, but she laughs. She takes a very deep breath then, throwing her hair back on top of her head, and rubbing a little at her eyes. In her state of overwhelm, it seems a few tears have snuck in. 

“Hey,” Louis says, quietly. “It’s really okay. Whatever you want is fine.” 

Harry nods her head, and feels her eyes fill with tears all over again. This time, a helpless reaction to Louis’ kindness. It’s a lot. Even if Louis wants to pretend it never happened, it  _ did _ . They  oth know this colossal scary thing, and she’s not sure if it’s encouraging or alarming how calm Louis is about it all. Harry decides that it might be both. Both because Louis’ got a hand on the table again, palm open and ready for the taking, and this time, Harry doesn’t feel so weird accepting it. 

Louis gives it a little squeeze, and for the first time since all this started, since she saw Louis to begin with, Harry feels safe. 

Maybe it will be okay. 

“Let’s go to the living room, yeah?” Louis suggests softly, giving Harry’s hand one last reassuring squeeze before letting go. 

She grabs their wine and shows Harry to the couch and sets their glasses down. “Have a seat, love. You can let me know what you’ve decided when I’m back, I’m just gonna use the bathroom real quick.” 

Harry nods for the millionth time in the last ten minutes and picks up her wine glass. She swirls the substance in her glass and considers her options. Harry wonders what movies there are to choose from and if she could really handle that. Pretending it didn’t happen. She wonders if it would revert her back to the shaking mess she was not long ago. It wouldn’t do anything for the shame. 

That’s possibly the worst of what she’s feeling. Shame. Guilt. It hurts in this heavy way, that drags her whole body into a hopeless slouch. She doesn’t know how to be what she thinks she is, and she doesn’t know how to talk about it, and she  _ definitely _ doesn’t know how to tell someone who is  _ actually _ gay about it. 

When Louis returns, it’s with the bottle, and Harry’s neglected mug of tea, with fresh steam coming off it. 

“I’ve brought reinforcements,” Louis says, setting the mug beside her wine glass, and falling into the seat beside her. 

Harry already has some hefty tear streaks on her cheeks, and she attempts to wipe them away, but quickly loses the battle, when her own sharp intake of breath reminds her of how distraught she really is. She feels her breath stutter a little in her chest, as new tears trail down her face and Louis’ eyes immediately soften as she leans toward Harry and takes her shoulder in hand. Louis rubs her thumb back and forth and Harry feels this indescribable sympathy coming off of her. 

She hiccups a little and lifts her head to look Louis in the eye, and then she realizes—or rather remembers—that it’s empathy that Louis carries. 

She smiles softly, and if it were anyone else it would feel patronizing. With Louis, it’s an immense comfort to Harry. She opens her mouth a speak, but is choked up by yet another hiccup, the catch in her throat and chest too much. 

“Hey,” Louis whispers, scooting closer to rub soft circles into Harry’s back. “Hey, Harry, you’re okay. It’s okay.” 

And it  _ is _ . It  _ is _ okay but it sure as hell doesn’t feel like it. Louis reaches for the tea mug and brings it close to Harry’s face. 

“Can you drink some of this for me?” Louis asks, gently. “Take a few deep breaths, and a few sips of tea. For me?” 

Harry hums an agreement, and let’s Louis lead her through a couple deep breaths, counting to five and ten each time. “Good girl. Here, take a sip, yeah?” 

Harry obeys, and focuses on the warm liquid and how it feels on her tongue, then her throat, and feels it warming her entire insides. Foolishly, she attributes at least a third of that warmth to Louis’ soft hands on her back, and her calming gaze. 

“Alright.” Louis says, quietly. “Have you made any decisions?” 

Harry takes another drink of tea, and leans back against the couch, sighing deeply. She shuts her eyes tight, and the feeling of these words on the tip of her tongue feels all too similar to leaning over a toilet bowl. She pushes through the lurch in her stomach and says, “I think I’m gay.” 

Louis releases the softest of exhales, but doesn’t remove her gaze from Harry once, only moves a hand from Harry’s shoulder to her hair, fiddling gently with the ends of her curls, as she replies, “So you’ve mentioned. You think or you know?” 

Harry deflates, and the tears flow freely then as she says, “I’m not really sure.” 

“Okay,” Louis says. “That’s okay, love.” 

“I just don’t know how to be sure,” Harry admits shrugging self consciously. “It’s very, um… new.” 

“How new?” 

“Like, a week.” 

Louis makes the softest of sounds, signalling surprise. “Well, I’m very proud of you.” 

Harry scrunches her nose, and surprises herself when she finds herself meeting Louis’ eyes. “Why?” 

“Because I knew a  _ lot _ longer than you did before I told anyone.” 

Harry frowns, remembering what she learned of Louis not so long ago. “Didn’t someone...” 

Louis nods, solemnly. “See? Didn’t even do it myself,” she adds, self deprecatingly. 

Harry slumps, this time returning Louis’ reassuring touch. She places a hand on Louis’ knee and leans forward, “That’s not your fault. And you definitely didn’t deserve it.”

“I know, I know,” Louis says, dismissive and apologetic. “Sorry, didn’t mean to like, turn this around on me.” 

Harry shakes her head, “No, it’s fine. But, I’m leaning towards option one currently. But like… minus the forgetting part? Or pretending?”

“Like, just carrying on, but knowing what we both know?” 

“And, um. Keeping it between us?” 

“Of  _ course _ ,” Louis breathes out. “So, a movie then?” 

“Yeah, distractions are good.” 

“Alright, modified option one it is,” Louis replies, a warm smile on her face. “So do you wanna watch the Notebook or Captain America?”

Harry hums thoughtfully. Louis’ already seen her cry, so she wouldn’t have to try so hard to choke it back during The Notebook. 

Louis giggles from the other side, “It’s just a movie, love. You don’t have to think quite so hard.” 

Harry giggles back, feeling the muscles in her face loosen and her shoulders relax. “Yeah, um.” 

“Have you seen Captain America?” Louis asks. 

Harry shakes her head, meekly. 

“Oh, well then this choice has been revoked. We’re watching Cap,” Louis announces. 

Harry’s sort of relieved not to have the decision in her court anymore, and she marvels again at Louis’ confidence and the way she takes control of the situation time and time again. It’s easily one of the most hypnotizing parts of her in Harry’s opinion. She’s in control of her surroundings, people  _ listen _ to her—Harry included. 

And maybe it’s that very thing that has Harry feeling safer, and more secure than she has in weeks. Some far off thought reminds her that Louis is what put her off kilter in the first place, but as she feels the added weight on the couch, and notes that Louis leans close to her, and sets a hand in the small space between their laps, Harry can’t find it in her to be scared anymore. 

The worst is over. They both know what they know, and Louis isn’t making a fuss of creating distance. She’s sitting close, wine glass in her free hand, and giggling at how alien Chris Evans looks without all the muscle in the opening scenes of Captain America. 

Harry can’t help her wandering eyes, and she pays very little attention to the movie compared to the amount of time she’s spent wondering what would happen if she leaned just a little more to her right. If their knees touched, or if Harry set her head on Louis’ shoulder, or if Louis’ hand would make its way around her waist. It’s still embarrassing, how much Harry  _ feels _ in regards to Louis, and she’s not sure she can keep that piece to herself forever. Not when everything she does feels like a means to an end. 

She’s only come out less than an  _ hour _ ago, and she hadn’t even  _ meant _ to. It all feels too much, too soon. 

So Harry sips at her wine, and just keeps sipping. It gives her something to do, and she wonders if one of these times, alcohol consumption will do her any favors. Her glass is empty before long, and Louis takes note when Harry sets it on the table in front of her. 

“Want some more?” 

Harry nods, because right now, she’s fine. Another glass won’t kill her. 

So Louis smiles, and leans forward for the bottle. She tops off her own glass and refills Harry’s. 

Another glass later, and Harry finds herself helplessly giggling at everything Louis says. 

“They’re just so  _ gay _ for each other, Harry. They  _ kill _ me.” Louis says, a hand dramatically draped over her forehead. 

Harry giggles so much she hiccups a bit. “They’ve gotta stop with all the meaningful gazing.” 

“ _ Right? _ ” Louis laughs back. “Get a fucking room!” 

Harry grins, and turns her attention back the TV for only a second. The wine settles somewhere low in her tummy and she feels warm, and more comfortable than she thought possible. She leans back against the couch, and when she glances back to her right, she finds Louis, also settling further into her seat, a small smile still on her face as she seems to tune back into the movie. Harry is staring, and it’s obvious, but she doesn’t care enough to stop. 

Louis feels it eventually, and when she turns her head and meets Harry’s eyes, she smiles warmly. 

“How ya feeling?” 

“Alright,” Harry answers honestly. She tilts her head to the side, without thinking, and sticks her tongue out at Louis because she feels like it. 

Louis giggles a little, “A little tipsy then?” 

Harry feels her cheeks warm again, as she nods. 

“The good kind? Or the bad kind?”

“Good,” Harry answers. She feels bubbly, and giddy, and quite honestly, she doesn’t think it has all that much to do with the alcohol. 

Louis leans forward to set her own wine glass down and refill it. She gestures to Harry’s glass, and Harry nods her head, confirming she’ll take a bit more. It might be a mistake, but if nothing else, Niall would be proud. 

She misses Niall. It’s been a while, and Niall’s been respectful of the distance. She’s a good friend. 

“Are you bored?” Louis asks, suddenly. 

Harry lifts her head and shrugs a little. 

“You seem distracted. Maybe a tad disinterested?” 

“Distracted is more like it,” Harry admits. “Movie’s good, though.” 

Louis grins. “It’s okay if you don’t think so. I’m a bit of a nerd, but I get it. I’ve got Liam for movies like this.” 

Harry frowns without meaning to. She’d forgotten about Liam. Harry acknowledges then that Liam’s not a  _ real _ obstacle to Harry’s happiness. Harry’s here after all, and Louis asked her to be. She’d just forgotten that Liam was so close, while Harry is only just starting her approach. Is that a weird thing to think? Harry swallows back another sip of wine, and pushes the thought straight out of her mind. 

Instead she focuses on Louis’ nimble fingers, and how daintily she holds her wine glass. She thinks of how careful Louis has been with her, how gentle, and understanding, and kind. She thinks of how invested she was in this movie at the start, and how ready she seems to drop it all and be there for Harry if she asks. The thoughts spin around in her head so much she’s dizzy, and she’d blame the alcohol, but, really… Louis is a great person to just, like, sit and admire what she’s like. 

Harry feels the embarrassment start to rise back up her chest, at how blatantly she keeps staring. But now, she’s beginning to wonder if she should just… give her mind what it wants. If all she can focus on is Louis, then maybe she should allow it for once, just to see what happens. 

“How did you know you were gay?” she asks, suddenly. The words come out raspy and unsure, but she really wants to know. She wants to understand. 

Louis lets the movie play behind them, but turns to face Harry, and places her elbow on her knee, a hand on her face. 

“I mean, I always knew. But I admitted it when I realized that I didn’t want to kiss boys as much as I wanted to practice with my friends.” 

Harry laughs a little at that. “You actually did that? I thought that only happened in like, movies or something.” 

Louis grins back. “I mean, it was definitely always my idea.” 

“So you just like, realized it one day?” 

Louis shrugs, “I mean, like I said. I think that deep down, I always knew. I had a lot of... confusing... dreams in middle school, and I was infatuated with Britney Spears, so like… it’s always been there. But when my friends had boyfriends, and I just really wanted them to come have sleepovers with me, I realized I was different.”

“Did you tell anyone?” 

Louis shakes her head, “No, I was worried… because of all the practice kissing, that all my friends would think that I was… gross, or something.”

“Did they? When you… when they found out?” Harry treads lightly with the question, but it feels important that she knows.

Louis hesitates a moment, but nods and then tips her wine glass back to finish off her third. “Yeah, it’s why I transferred. I didn’t have… any support, really. At least, not at school. It was awful.” 

“I’m sorry,” Harry whispers. 

“S’okay.” Louis shrugs back, “It’s over now.” 

“Still,” Harry says, quietly. “It’s so shitty. You don’t deserve that.” 

“Well thanks,” Louis says. “But no one does.” 

Harry hums in agreement. 

“Can I ask you something too?” Louis asks, quietly. 

Harry nods, and takes yet another sip. Her head is spinning a little, but it’s not all unpleasant. She’s maybe more nervous, but she still feels incredibly safe here, and it would seem that makes all the difference. 

“It’s okay not to know. But… if you think you are, can I ask why you’re unsure? Like, what is it that has you doubting?” 

Harry considers her answer very carefully, because really, she’s just not sure. 

It’s like, she  _ knows _ , but she’s never even kissed a girl. She’s never held one’s hand, or whispered silly promises into her ear. And it isn’t that she’s never done those things at all. She had a great relationship in high school with one of her best friends, and it was fine. They parted on good terms, agreeing that with his university being as far as it was, that they were better as friends. 

She remembers kissing Jeff, and she remembers sex with Jeff, and she remembers the whole thing being… underwhelming. It wasn’t bad. He figured out how to help her finish, and they said meaningful things to each other and meant them. Harry had just never loved sex. And while remembering that makes Harry even more sure that she might be gay, she wonders if she’d feel any different with a girl. She wonders if it would still be underwhelming, and if maybe it’s all just a fluke. 

Maybe Harry just isn’t into sex at all? It’s possible. 

“Harry?” Louis asks, softly. 

Harry snaps back into the present and smiles apologetically at Louis, who reaches for her hand and gives it a quick squeeze. 

“It’s okay if you can’t talk about it. I get it.” 

Harry shakes her head, “No, I want to um… tell you. It’s just hard to find the words.” 

Louis nods, patiently and sets her empty glass beside her on the floor. 

Harry is always sure that touching Louis would be enough to make her heart burst, and take her beyond coherent thought. Instead, with Louis’ hand in hers she feels rooted to her seat and settled. 

“Right now it’s just… a feeling,” Harry starts with a small sigh. “It’s a million thoughts all at once and it’s terrifying, but there’s this one little thought that’s pushing all the others forward and makes me feel like I might throw up it scares me so bad.” 

Louis squeezes her hand gently, and scoots a little closer. “Okay… can I ask what, um. What made it show up?” 

Harry holds her breath a moment. This is it, isn’t it? She can’t lie to save her life, and Louis’ asked the real question here. She swallows and avoids Louis’ eyes and she admits, “There’s um…” 

She stops. Thankfully, Louis is able to say what she can’t. 

“Is there a girl, love?” 

Harry’s mouth falls into a deep pout, and she feels her vision go blurry with an embarrassing wave of tears. 

She nods her head quickly, and squeezes her eyes shut. 

“Okay,” Louis says quietly. “And why aren’t you sure? If there’s a girl, and there’s all these thoughts and this feeling. Why aren’t you sure?” 

Harry sniffles a little and wipes at her eyes, and squeezes Louis’ hand tight, so that she doesn’t let go. “I’m afraid that it’s not… I’m afraid I’m making it up or something.” 

Louis frowns, but doesn’t speak. She lets the silence be—an open invitation for Harry to explain what she means. 

After a moment or two, Harry accepts it. 

“It’s not that I  _ want _ to be gay, necessarily. In fact, I’m having a much harder time accepting it than I ever thought I would. But I’m really worried that it’s all in my head. And that I want… something that isn’t real. Something I’ve made up.” 

It doesn’t make a lot of sense, even to her, as she’s never really voiced these concerns. Harry’s never admitted to herself that what she wants feels… impossible. In part because she’s not entirely sure what it is, and again, in part because she knows  _ exactly _ what it is and it scares her. 

“I get that,” Louis whispers. 

It feels impossible that she could, but then again, a lot of things have felt absolutely out of the question to Harry. Including Louis’ hand in hers, which isn’t so impossible after all. 

“It’s terrifying at first, because it becomes so clear to you why nothing else works,” Louis says. “It’s like your whole life is played out for you on a screen and you see all the signs were there, and will continue to be there, and because of the nature of… people, you’re worried that this happily ever after you’ve been dreaming of since you were young is… impossible.” 

Harry nods her head, “That’s exactly it. And it’s all these  _ feelings _ that I’ve never had before so it almost feels  _ wrong _ even though I know in my head and heart that it’s not.” 

“It’s okay... if it feels wrong, though, sometimes,” Louis says, hesitant. “Like, you’re right that it’s not, but I think that everything you’re feeling is totally normal. It’s not wrong, it’s just different, and often different is really fucking scary.” 

“Yeah,” Harry says, both to confirm and to fill the heavy silence. After a few more moments, “Does it… still feel wrong for you sometimes?” 

Louis pauses thoughtfully, and lifts one shoulder in a half shrug. “Only sometimes. Very rarely. But, don’t… tell anyone I said that.” 

Harry shakes her head, “Never. When… um. When does it feel wrong for you?” 

“I mean… this is,” Louis hesitates again, and Harry wonders if she’s pushed too far. 

“I have a lot of casual sex,” Louis admits. “It’s hard to, um… I’ve been one of the very few ‘out’ people I know for a long time. So often people aren’t up for a relationship unless it’s a secret, and that feels… wrong to me sometimes. Or if I’m hooking up with someone who  _ very _ clearly doesn’t give a shit about me. That feels weird too.” 

Harry nods, listening. It makes sense, honestly. It’s the secrecy of it that’s made her feel shameful as well 

“Who wouldn’t give a shit about you?” Harry asks suddenly. 

Louis furrows her brows for only a second before lifting them in surprise. “I mean… a lot of people.” 

Harry frowns, “That’s shitty.” 

“Yeah,” Louis shrugs. “I mean, you get that sometimes. Not everyone is going to like you. And sometimes I just… I need to be close to someone. And sometimes, I guess… beggars can’t be choosers.” 

Louis looks more open and raw than Harry’s ever seen her. It’s captivating, but for all the wrong reasons. Harry had wanted to see Louis, and know her, but she hadn’t wanted it like this. Right now, she does see Louis. She sees her, confused, and hurt, and pushing through because it’s what she does. 

“I get that not everyone will like you. Or me. I just… don’t understand how they could…” Harry pauses, collecting herself, before she can say what she means. “I think you’re amazing.” 

Louis purses her lips, but it doesn’t effectively hide the smile warming her cheeks. Harry feels a rush of something through her stomach and chest at having made Louis smile like that. 

“Well, thank you,” Louis says, quietly. “I think you’re pretty amazing too.” 

Harry snorts, awkwardly. “You do  _ not _ have to say that.” 

“But I mean it!” Louis says, a wide smile on her face. “You’re honest, and kind, and funny. You’ve just come out to someone only a week after you came out to yourself. You’re incredibly brave.” 

“Stop it,” Harry says quickly, cheeks heating wildly under all the attention.

“Why?” Louis asks with a mischievous smirk. “You getting a big head?” 

Harry rolls her eyes, “I might!” 

Louis releases Harry’s hand, and pokes her side, “You’re damn adorable, you know it?” 

Harry pulls away at the poke, too quick for Louis to ignore, and her damn insides squirm and squeal at the compliment. Unfortunately, it won’t be stopping anytime soon. Louis smirks before leaning that much closer into Harry’s space. 

“Harry Styles,” she says, with an annoying confidence about her, “Are you ticklish?” 

Harry shakes her head quickly, and instantly realizes how foolish it is because Louis only gives her another experimental poke. Harry yelps and immediately covers her face. 

“Just when I thought you couldn’t get any cuter,” Louis laughs. 

“Please have mercy,” Harry giggles. Her face must be bright red, judging by how warm it is against her hands. 

Louis doesn’t poke her again, instead she settles further into the spot right next to Harry. Their thighs are touching, and Harry feels a tad overwhelmed. She peeks from behind her palms to find Louis grinning at her. Harry finds herself smiling back, easily. 

“There she is,” Louis grins. “I love when you smile.” 

Harry avoids Louis’ eyes, and her hands, and wonders if she should scoot away. The closeness, and the compliments, and all the reassurance has Harry’s head spinning. It’s a lot for one night. A lot for something so new, something she doesn’t quite understand yet. 

“So, who’s the lucky girl?” Louis teases. “Wanna tell me about her?” 

Harry’s heart falls to her stomach, and her eyes widen slightly. “Oh, um…” 

Louis sets a hand on Harry’s knee, “Sorry. Did I overstep?” 

Harry takes her bottom lip between two fingers, and just barely shakes her head, “No I just… I don’t…” 

Louis waits several seconds before asking, “You don’t what?”

“I mean…” Harry pauses. She can do this. She doesn’t know what it is yet, but she knows that she can do this. 

“She’s beautiful,” Harry breathes out. “I’ve never had a harder time looking away from a person than I do her.” 

Louis smiles softly. “Do I know her?” 

Harry nods. It’s not like it’s a lie. “Yeah, she goes to our school. She’s incredibly confident, and sort of intimidating sometimes. I think everyone kind of wants to be her friend, and I’m no exception.” 

Louis furrows her brows. “Are you friends? Or you just want to be?” 

Harry shrugs a little, “We’re friends, but it’s pretty new. I feel… a lot, when I’m with her. And it’s… weird. Trips me up a bit.” 

“God, that first crush is the worst, isn’t it? You feel weird and like, obsessive, almost.” 

“Exactly,” Harry confirms, with a small wince. She’ll likely have to own up to that later. 

“Have you—” Louis starts and stops. She spares a glance at Harry and fiddles with her hair. 

“Have I what?” 

“Have you… done anything,” Louis asks, with a shy glance downward, “with girls, I mean? Like… kissing or whatever.” 

Harry’s heart does a stupid flutter and she sucks in her bottom lip as she shakes her head. “That’s the other reason, I guess… that I’m like… unsure.” 

“Hm,” Louis replies. It’s quiet between them for a while. 

“Would it be dumb to say…” Harry begins, feeling incredibly exposed with only the  _ thought _ of what she wants to ask. “I mean, I just… well, I almost wish I’d had a friend like you to practice with.” 

Louis smiles at that, and it comes as a relief to Harry. 

“Is it much different?” Harry asks, “Don’t make fun of me. I really want to know…” 

Louis shrugs, “I mean, I’ve never kissed a boy. But I think it would be different. Boys have rougher faces.” 

“Rougher?” Harry asks, a giggle escaping her lips. 

“I don’t know!” Louis defends herself, a matching grin on her lips. “The stubble looks rough to me.” 

“Oh, I mean, yeah, I guess that makes more sense. My boyfriend in high school had a baby face so I don’t think I know anything about kissing someone rugged,” Harry laughs. 

“Ah, well.” Louis replies, and something shifts between them, and all thoughts of Harry’s old boyfriend flee from her mind. All she sees are Louis’ bright blue eyes boring into hers, and a small, hesitant grin on her face as she says, “I mean… if you really want a comparison… I’d be willing to let you, um, give it a go.” 

Harry can feel her heart beating wildly, but it still feels like it’s hanging out somewhere in her stomach. Or maybe it’s just pounding so hard she can feel it reach down there, because there’s something throbbing all the way up to her head too. This is her chance, but she’s not sure she could do it without Louis knowing her feelings. It feels the way Louis had described earlier, like the secret is what makes it shameful. 

Then again, she’s not sure she could pull off a kiss without Louis sensing her feelings, tasting them on her lips. Harry knows she’s emotive. When someone wiggles their way into her heart, they find it incredibly easy to read her. So maybe this is all she needs to get brave enough to admit it. Or maybe, it’ll be what snaps her out of it. Kissing Louis could pale in comparison to her fantasy. 

She realizes then how close she’s drifted into Louis’ space. Their faces are incredibly close, and Harry feels like maybe a nod would be unclear and hard to see so she whispers a soft, “Okay.” 

“Yeah?” Louis checks with her, just as softly. 

“Yeah,” Harry whispers back, eyes fluttering shut. It feels exactly like when she’s alone in her room, the suspense and the butterflies fluttering wildly all over her body. Only this time, she isn’t met with cold air, or soft silence. Instead, a soft pair of lips find hers, and Harry gasps a little at the contact. 

A hand makes its way to her face, and Harry relaxes into it, pressing gently into Louis’ lips. Louis’ mouth opens for her, and Harry feels bold and alive when she opens her own to deepen the kiss. Her body is thrumming, and it’s like her heartbeat is in her tongue and steadily she licks into Louis’ mouth and relishes at the sound it evokes from her. 

Louis pulls her a little closer, and though their lips detach for a few seconds, Harry finds herself far too preoccupied to reconsider their actions. Instead, she succumbs to Louis’ grip, and finds herself sitting with her knees on either side of Louis’ lap, and aching to get even closer. She cups Louis’ face in her hands, and goes in for more. She feels a sudden tingle between her legs when Louis whines at her, and some far off thought reminds her that this was supposed to be scary. 

Louis meets her lips every time, sucking on her bottom lip, and squeezing her hips, and driving Harry absolutely  _ crazy _ with want and need and when Louis’ hands push their way under Harry’s shirt and onto her skin, a helpless moan escapes her lips. 

She can’t find it in her to be embarrassed, not when Louis looks as overwhelmed as Harry is, reaching again and again for Harry’s bra clasp, and failing each time to unlatch it with shaky fingers. 

Harry stops kissing her a moment, just to catch her breath, and Louis regains herself a moment. 

“You good?” she asks, “Is this okay?” 

“Yeah,” Harry replies breathily, “Totally okay.” 

Harry reaches for Louis’ hands and place them on her back again, prompting her to resume. Louis’ lips only make a swift move from Harry’s face to her neck and chest. Harry sighs, a soft noise escaping her, and as she’s about to reach for her own bra clasp it hits her exactly what’s happening here. 

Louis hasn’t stopped sucking what’s likely to be a bruise into her collar bone, and Harry’s only kind of in her right mind, but Louis’ very nearly pushed the cup off of her breast, and the thought of Louis’ hands on her nipples has her head positively spinning, and she doesn’t  _ want _ to stop. 

So she settles for a pause, just something to set her heart right, because  _ god _ is she enjoying this, and the last thing she wants is for Louis to stop. But maybe, it’ll be even better if everything’s out on the table, right? 

“Lou,” Harry says, surprising herself at the roughness in her voice. She coughs a little, and kisses the top of Louis’ head, and says her name again, “Louis.” 

Louis hums, bound and determined to keep her lips on Harry’s neck, and honestly, it feels too damn good for Harry to argue. 

“I’m gonna go out on a limb here and say that I’m definitely gay,” Harry says. 

Louis laughs, and yeah, that means she’s stopped, but Harry can’t be bothered when Louis rests her forehead to Harry’s shoulder as she giggles. “Yeah, same.” 

Louis lifts her head then and looks at her, and Harry grins wide, as Louis presses her lips to Harry’s once more. 

When Louis separates them again, she sighs, and says, “You… are very good at that.” 

“Thanks,” Harry smirks. “You’re not so bad yourself. But ya know… I’m always here for more practice.” 

Louis laughs, and shoves her a bit. “I take it back. You’re the worst.” 

Harry pouts, and shrugs, “Well, then I guess I won’t tell you my last secret.” 

Louis’ glances at her in surprise, a small smirk on her face. “More secrets out of you? Really?” 

“Only, if you say I’m the best.” 

Harry’s not sure where all this confidence came from, but if anything, the way Louis keeps glancing back at her lips is egging her on.

“Hang on, let me check,” Louis says, connecting their lips once more. 

Harry makes a show of it, pulling Louis in tight, and deepening the kiss quickly, going for the gold. She nips at Louis’ lip a bit, and call it a lucky guess, but it elicits another moan from Louis, and she’s helpless to stop her own when Louis sucks Harry’s tongue into her mouth. 

Harry pulls off to catch her breath again, and smirks at Louis’ own heaving.

“Alright, fine, yeah, you’re still ridiculously good at that.” 

“But am I the best?” Harry teases. 

Louis rolls her eyes dramatically, but she’s grinning from ear to ear. “Yeah, yeah. You’re the best. Now tell me the secret.” 

“Oh,” Harry giggles self consciously, “Um. Well… That lucky girl?” 

Louis nods, but Harry sees the way her eyes darken a little at the reminder. 

“It’s, um… you.” 

Louis’ features soften, and she tilts her face just close enough to Harry’s. “Is it really?” 

Harry nods, bashful, and endeared by the wonder in Louis’ eyes. 

“I mean, it shouldn’t come as a surprise to you, should it?” 

Louis frowns. “Why, because I’m a spatula?” 

Harry shakes her head quickly, “No, no. We’ve established. I’m gay. I just mean because you’re… you. You’re magic.” 

Louis snorts. “You know, the last thing that made me magic was putting your shitty vodka in some cranberry juice.”  

“So? You’re only proving my point. You’re magic.” 

Louis dips her head down a bit, “And  _ you’re _ damn adorable.” 

 

___

 

_ August 25, 2018 _

“Lou!” Liam calls outside her door. “Get up! You promised.” 

Louis huffs a sigh, setting her head on the mattress behind her. “Coming.” 

She’s not dressed, or anywhere near ready, but Liam is right. She promised. 

Louis feels a little better today. Her heart isn’t as heavy, and she can even see a little clearer, so maybe this night won’t be a total disaster. Maybe she’s ready to put on a dress and some lipstick, and pretend she’s happy. If only for Liam’s sake. 

Liam knocks again, and Louis is about to ask for a few minutes, when Liam opens the door. She finds Louis on the floor, at the foot of her bed, still in her sweatpants and a sports bra with a book in her lap. She hasn’t been reading it. Flipping pages just gives her something to do with her hands, and it’s this spacey behavior that she can’t shake that assures her she isn’t past the worst of it yet. 

Liam sags her shoulders slightly and approaches Louis where she sits. She places her hands on her hips and asks, “Do you want to go or not?” 

Louis shrugs, “I promised, didn’t I?” 

Liam rolls her eyes, “I’m not going to force you, Lou. You don’t look like you’re ready.” 

“I’m not,” Louis admits. “I need help picking something to wear.” 

“No, I mean… are you  _ ready _ ?” 

Louis knew what she meant the first time, but she still feigns new understanding now, for Liam’s benefit. Louis hasn’t had it in her to tease too much. 

“I’m fine, Li,” she says, quietly, standing up to face her. “Will you help me pick a dress?” 

Liam hesitates, a looming doubt in her eyes, but she smiles anyway, and drags Louis over to her closet. 

They end up with a few options, and they each come with a question attached. Louis catches wind of it when one of the articles of clothing draped over her shoulder is actually a red, scoop neck tee that’s loaded with memories she works hard to push back. 

Turns out, all of these clothes have some memories attached to them, and it’s embarrassing the way her lip quivers before she throws them all on her bed and retreats to the bathroom. 

“Lou!” Liam calls after her. 

“Just pick something, Li,” she says, loudly so Liam can hear her. 

Liam won’t. She’ll wait for Louis to come back and ask her the dreaded question of what she’s  _ up for _ , and Louis won’t know what to say. She isn’t up for anything, only agreeing to this night out because Liam’s her best friend and she deserves better. 

Everyone deserves better. And that’s the hurdle Louis can’t quite clear. She’s used to the aching loneliness. She’s used to waking with tears on her face, and feeling responsible for her own unhappiness. It’s the pain she causes other people that she’s not sure how to stop. 

She hates how disappointed Liam always is, and she hates how much her mother worries, and she hates that even when she ran into Niall for the first time since graduation… it was concern that she felt first. 

And after everything, Louis has a hard time believing she deserves it. Any of it. 

Liam comes after her, eventually. Louis should have known that ten minutes in the bathroom is too long. 

“We don’t have to do this,” Liam says softly, leaning against the doorway. “I just wanna spend some time with you. That can look like whatever we want.” 

It’s a lovely gesture. It’s wonderful, even, but Louis can’t accept it. It stirs something in her, unsettles her heartbeat so its sporadic, and a heat covers her skin. She feels uneasy, and a little wobbly, but she stands from the toilet and shakes her head. “Let’s go out, Li.” 

She throws on a dress without looking at it, and they do their makeup in silence. Louis is so determined to make this happen for Liam she isn’t entirely aware of how aggressively she’s rubbing the brushes across her cheek. She scrubs at her under eyes and wills the bags to disappear, and puts enough mascara on her lashes to feel the weight of them. 

She picks a darker lip color and pastes it on, glancing at Liam as she lightly applies her highlighter. She smiles despite herself, an idea blooming, and she says, “Hey Li? Let’s pretend that it’s a year ago.” 

Liam pauses, the makeup brush still on her face, and she looks at Louis in the mirror. “A year ago?” 

“Yeah, like. The start of senior year. On top of the world.” 

“I think I was much more stressed than that,” Liam says, wary and confused. Liam ruins everything. 

“That’s because you worry too much. Let’s pretend you don’t do that.” 

Liam scrunches her face, mildly offended, but she shrugs her shoulders and resumes the circular motion with her brush, “Alright. It’s a year ago and I don’t worry so much.” 

And just like that, Louis’ shoulders feel lighter.

She lets the feeling carry her through the evening. They start with dinner, ordering cocktails and Louis’ laughter feels foreign to her own ears, but Liam’s impressions always put Louis in a bout of giggles. Especially a few months ago. 

It’s easier than she thought, to let herself pretend she’s in the past. 

Louis downs a vodka cranberry with her burger and is finishing her second briefly after it hits the table. These days, she’s more susceptible to alcohol and its effects. Liam thinks it’s because she’s lost weight, but when she asked Zayn, he called it getting older. Louis doesn’t want to think about either of those things, especially since it’s a year ago. Louis could drink, and every shot brought her closer to invincible. 

She’s wobbly while they pay for dinner. It takes her a few embarrassing attempts to keep a grip on the pen and sign her receipt. Liam squeezes her shoulder, but doesn’t say anything, and the two of them go off into the night. Their next stop is a place to dance. 

Louis almost requests their favorite gay bar, but she doesn’t want Liam getting the wrong idea. A year ago, she wasn’t really looking to pull either. The wind is picking up in strength and chill now that the sun is long gone. She keeps a hand on her skirt, and the other clasped tightly in Liam’s hand. 

They find a place with neon purple and green and pink lights, where the music can be heard loudly from outside. Louis glances at Liam, to find her already looking right back. She nods wordlessly, and the pair of them enter the club hurriedly.  

Louis shivers once they’re inside, Liam releasing her hand to place of them on her shoulders. She rubs up and down, and Louis shudders again, but shoots Liam a quick smile of thanks. 

Liam’s lip quirks up, “Time to dance?” 

Louis nods, “Yeah, can we take another shot first?” 

Liam hesitates, but nods, “Just one more then.” 

“Yeah, just one.”

One becomes two. Two becomes another cocktail (a double, at that) and where Liam had hoped for dancing, three’s mostly flailing, and several moments Louis has to fight to keep upright. She laughs, but it feels like shouting. Liam wraps an arm around her shoulders when they try to find a table and Louis doesn’t  _ need _ it so she pushes her away. 

“Louis, what is your problem?” Liam shouts. The music is much too loud, and Louis feels it must be the way her heart is pounding that’s driving the sound, making her entire body vibrate—like a human resonant of the bass. 

“I have to pee,” Louis says. She knows it’s too loud, that Liam definitely didn’t hear her, but she makes her exit. 

The bathroom is disgusting, and Louis spares it a thought before she pulls her pants down and sits on the toilet anyway. Harry used to be so  _ weird _ about that, always taking extra time to cover the seat before she sat down. She’d make a show of keeping her distance when Louis didn’t do the same because who knows what kind of diseases Louis just picked up from sitting on the toilet. 

The room sways a little from where she sits. She’s so drunk. She admits it to herself in the way she sets her face in her hands, elbows on her knees, her hands moving back into her hair. Her skin feels looser on her face, and her stomach has moved its way up in her chest, pushing her heart into her throat. It’s harder to breathe, and Louis is so  _ drunk _ , but she’s something else too. 

She finishes, and her head spins when she stands. She flushes, and thinks again how gross this is. How nasty the stains around the toilet are. Her stomach lurches and she thinks, maybe she can’t judge. She feels about as dirty and untended to as this place looks. 

She walks as daintily as she can across the tiny once-white tiles on the floor. Harry would have walked on her tiptoes to avoid the cracks. It wouldn’t have worked, and she would’ve tripped over her long legs and laughed. Louis takes a watery breath in, and approaches the bathroom sink. Using only the tips of her fingers, she pulls the hot water faucet on, and lets it warm as she reaches for the soap. 

She scrubs methodically, between each finger, and taking extra care of each knuckle. The music pounds on the other side of the door, and Louis’ chest hurts from how it still moves in her body. Her belly full of liquid, and her heart full of strife, the steady beat only makes her nauseous. It’s far too early in the night to be retching out all her filth. It has some seeping still to do. 

She rinses her hands off and shuts the water off, leaning heavily against the sink and staring in the mirror. She can see a speck of something on the glass that rests just at her cheek in the reflection and she stares at it. She wants to tell herself that she’s fine. The words are on the tip of her tongue, ready to be spoken and made true, but just behind the speck in her reflection, she sees the light trail of a tear. And just above that, she looks into the eyes of despair. 

Louis takes a shuddery breath in, and knows, she’s gotten confused. This feeling is later. November, or December, maybe. When Harry wasn’t there, she was drunk and missing Harry. Always missing Harry. 

Louis doesn’t see Liam when she re-emerges into the heart of the club, though she wasn’t trying particularly hard to find her. Instead she walks straight to the bar, and orders another drink and tells her wobbly knees to get it together. 

Liam deserves a good night, anyway. And that will undoubtedly happen without her. 

 

___

 

_ October 20, 2017 _

Harry towels off her hands, swaying a little where she stands, humming along to the song she can hear playing clearly outside. She’s pleasantly tipsy, and laughing to herself as she hurries to dry her hands and return to the party. She feels like a kid again, holding it too long because she’s having too much fun. 

She finds Niall when she rounds the corner, speaking amicably with another girl Harry’s met once or twice. The alcohol has her feeling bubbly and warm and she wraps an arm around Niall’s middle easily, resting her head on her shoulder, and giving the other girl a nice wave. What is her name again? It starts with a B. 

Niall is unbothered by the physical affection, in fact, if Harry didn’t know better, she would wonder if Niall even noticed it. The only tell is the way one of her hands keeps finding the ends of Harry’s hair, tugging it lightly ever so often. Poor whatever her name is looks a little confused, and Harry wonders if that’s her sign to bugger off. She doesn’t want to ruin anything for Niall if she can help it. 

So with her head still on Niall’s shoulder, her eyes scan the room for the millionth time tonight for a particular shade of blue. She doesn’t find it, but she does find something just as enticing in red. She stands up a little straighter, and makes her way across the room to fix another drink. She sneaks glances along the way, at a gorgeous set of collarbones on display. 

Things with Louis have been… weird. Not in a bad way, just in a new, exhilarating,  _ terrifying _ way. They haven’t talked much about the kiss (or twelve) they shared a couple weeks ago, but Harry’s thought of nothing else since. It’s crazy how young and wild she feels, lying in bed at night. She closes her eyes and sees striking blue eyes, she sees thin pink lips, and it’s all too easy to remember how they felt against her own. And then against her neck, and chest. She remembers sure hands against her breasts. 

It’s accidental, but easy, and  _ natural _ that she finds herself a sweaty, sated mess soon after. It doesn’t help to keep her cheeks from falling crimson whenever she’s in the same room as Louis. And Louis doesn’t make matters any easier, looking the way she does. _ Teasing _ the way she does.

Even now, Harry leans against the wall, taking a swig of her drink, and when Louis glances up at her, a glint of mischief flashes in her eyes and it sends a zap of electricity through Harry’s spine. There’s something heavy with anticipation in the way Louis’ eyebrows lift at her before she returns to Liam. A new, more pronounced sway in her hips, and a sly smirk on her face.

Harry wants to walk up to her and kiss the smirk right off her face. 

And while the chemistry is insane, and underexplored, and driving Harry crazy, she’s also found herself just craving Louis’ company. They’ve spent a lot of time together since the night Harry accidentally came out. They have shared kisses since, mostly in hello and goodbye, and Harry looks forward to the next before the last is ever over.    
They have yet to really talk about what happened. Harry would be more insistent if she wasn’t so afraid of appearing too eager. Regardless, the last couple of weeks have been blissful, just in Louis’ company. And every time they separate, it’s like a small piece of Harry goes with Louis. 

So, she tries to conjure some of it back while she lies alone in bed, and ends up having orgasms instead. Really, she can’t complain. But it would be nice if Louis would just come deliver all of the above herself. 

Niall, of course, noticed something had changed right away, and she was the second person Harry came out to. It feels weird still, calling it a coming out, when this secret hasn’t been hidden away for years and years. Still the weeks she kept it from Niall were awful and lonely, and it’s nice knowing that what she can’t say (about Louis) to Louis, she can say to Niall. 

Harry sighs and takes another sip of her drink. She looks inside the cup and swirls it a little in her hand, and when she looks back up she finds Louis walking toward her. Her body stiffens slightly, standing a little straighter, eyes a little wider as she reminds herself to stay cool. 

Louis stands beside her, leaning against the wall and facing her. “How you feeling?”

“Good,” Harry chirps. “Just chillin.”

_ Very cool. _ Harry nearly rolls her eyes at herself, but the crinkles by Louis’ eyes when she smiles make her stupid and distract her.

“Good, and um…” Louis says, smiling warmly. She avoids Harry’s eyes for a moment, and when she resumes their eye contact there’s something gentle and even the tiniest bit vulnerable there. Harry’s heart rabbits in her chest as she nods, signalling Louis to continue. “Don’t get too crazy tonight, yeah?”

Harry furrows her brow a moment, she doesn’t quite understand.

The next second, her hand is enveloped in Louis’ and she gives it a tight squeeze. Harry hovers closer because she can’t quite help it, and she’s only slightly aware of how Louis takes the drink from her hand and sets it behind her, placing her other hand in Harry’s instead. It’s a fine and worthy replacement. Wonderful, even. 

Harry could be gaping at Louis with her mouth wide open, and she wouldn’t even  _ notice _ because, Louis’ taken one of their entangled hands and brought them to Harry’s hair where she tugs softly, a soft, teasing smile on her face.

“We should hang out later.” 

Harry nods too quickly. “Yeah, I’d um. I’d like that.” 

God, what is even  _ happening _ . Louis is looking right at her with those big blue eyes, and she looks so soft, and Harry wants to kiss her something stupid, but she doesn’t want to ruin anything. She especially doesn’t want to ruin their chances of hanging out later. 

“Sick,” Louis grins. “The night’s young and all, so we don’t have to go right away, just like. Wanted to make sure you were down first.”

Down for what? A movie? A trip to Paris? Making out until their lips turn blue? 

Regardless, Harry nods her head with a certainty that would embarrass her if the sparkle in Louis’ eyes didn’t tell her all she needed to know. 

 

___

 

_ August 25, 2018 _

It’s fucking cold. Louis shivers as she walks. She doesn’t know where the hell she is. It doesn’t matter anyway, does it?

Nothing does. 

Louis finds a bench to sit on. She used to have this recurring nightmare about a train station, and something about the fog and the cold reminds her of it. She would wander aimlessly for hours. She couldn’t find her mom, and as she got older, she started to worry in her dream that her mother ditched her on purpose.

She told Harry about it once, and the memory is crystal clear. The way Harry had scooted closer to her in the bed, had brushed her hair out of her eyes. 

_ I’ll find you _ , she had said. 

Louis slumps in her seat and feels the tears well up inside of her until they gain enough power to punch her in the stomach. She heaves from where she sits, bending over from the force of her own sobbing, and cries into the silent night. 

There’s way too much alcohol in her system, and she doesn’t know where she is, and everyone in the world would be better off without her. 

Liam deserves a better friend. Her mom deserves a better daughter. Harry deserves a better everything.

And Louis loves all of them. She loves them so much. They deserve every happiness imaginable, and Louis just can’t imagine a world where she contributes to that. And only now, when her inhibitions are low, does she realize just how selfish she is. How useless she is. 

Still, she’s here. Wishing desperately that maybe Harry’s still good on that promise. She needs to be found right now. 

She feels her stomach lurch, and she stands from the bench to a patch of grass where she promptly throws up. It leaves her throat sore, and her face pulsing, and she knows this is it. 

This is where it ends. 

Louis is a selfish piece of shit, and the world hasn’t seen the last of her. She won’t go down without a full on tantrum, with kicking and screaming. It’s whoever this girl is. The one that’s retching into a patch of grass and out of her own mind. She’s gotta go. 

It’s the last thing that crosses Louis’ mind before the world is covered in a dark velvet.

Hazy, soft, black. 

 

___

 

_ October 20, 2017 _

Louis’ place is dark when they arrive. Harry squints and tries to adjust to the light, listening as Louis drops her keys in the bowl by the door, and pulls Harry by the hand through the dark. Harry feels nervous in a way she can’t explain when Louis stops outside her bedroom. 

She opens it, and when she flips the switch, Harry blinks a few times, the sudden light proving a shock to her tired eyes. She hadn’t had too much to drink, per Louis’ request, but Niall had managed to get another cocktail in her hand not that long ago and it’s left her wobbly and nervous. 

Somehow, Louis’ hand in hers feels as much a peril as it does an anchor. 

Harry giggles a little, as Louis walks her over to the bed and practically sets her there, releasing her hand and reaching for the lamp beside her bed. She moves back to the door and shuts off the main light so her room takes on a golden hue. 

“Want some tea?” 

“I could go for some tea, yeah.” Harry agrees, her voice cracking a little.

Louis smiles, and her eye crinklies show and Harry’s tummy does flips as she watches Louis leave the room. 

_ Is this what she does for all the girls?  _

The thought comes to nip at her chest and neck so quickly, it feels like a wave of shame come to drown her. It’s terrifying, being here, and not knowing anything. 

Well, no. That’s a lie. She knows  _ something _ . She knows that Louis isn’t what people have said she is. She knows that Louis’ had plenty of opportunities these last few weeks to get Harry in her bed, but she didn’t. 

They’ve talked, and they’ve enjoyed each other’s company, and they’ve become real friends. Texting when something reminds them of each other, and finding each other when they’re free for lunch. Harry spends most of her evenings at Louis’ place, and they laugh into each other’s sides. Thighs touching, hand in hand, and playing with each other’s hair. Harry’s never felt so close to someone before. Not like this.

When Louis swings her bedroom door open, the sudden movement jolts Harry, and she winces when the bed creaks slightly when she jumps. 

“Is green tea okay?” Louis asks softly. There’s no need to whisper, but Harry can’t find it in her to point that out. Not when Louis’ big eyes ask so sincerely. 

Harry nods, “Green tea’s great, thanks.” 

Louis smiles and hands her a mug.

She crawls onto the bed and sits with her legs crossed facing Harry and lifts her eyebrows once as she brings her own mug to her lips. 

Harry giggles softly, and mimics Louis’ actions. She takes in the sight of Louis, her legs crossed underneath her so her thighs look just a little thicker in her black jeans. She leans forward with her elbows on her knees, both hands clutched around her warm mug. She’s wearing this red scoop neck tee that’s left Harry’s mouth dry most of the night. Now, in the golden light of her room, her cleavage is right there and hard not to look at. 

Harry told Niall once last week that realizing she’s gay has felt like going through puberty all over again. 

Niall had laughed and asked, “Boobs, huh?” 

To which Harry had replied ever so eloquently, “Yes. Fuck. Boobs.” 

Louis hums softly now, pulling Harry back into this moment, and pulling her eyes back up to Louis’ face, where they should have been in the first place. 

Louis opens her mouth to speak, but stops. Blinking twice, she breathes a short, potentially flustered, laugh before looking Harry in the eyes. “So, how you doing?” 

Harry’s face scrunches up a little, and she looks back at Louis over the top of her mug with questioning eyes. 

“I, um,” Louis starts again, taking another pause and shaking her head a little. “We haven’t talked… about, um. About you since you…” 

Harry feels herself lift with understanding, and she nods, “Since I came out to you?” 

Louis nods. “Yeah, that.” 

Harry smiles, her shoulders lifting like she’s closing in on herself a little. Upon realizing it she sits up a little straighter, only to shrug again in response. 

Louis smiles and leans just a little closer. “I just thought I should ask, you know. Like, I think you might have told Niall, so maybe you’re doing just fine. But just in case… I… Well, I’m here. And I want to make sure you’re doing okay.” 

Harry’s heart feels fuzzy and a blush creeps across her cheeks. “Is that… why you wanted to hang out?” 

Louis smiles, sheepishly. “Yeah. That and I like your company is all.” 

Harry swallows hard, her nerves taking on a new, buoyant light, in this golden room with this golden girl.

“Well, I’m… good,” Harry replies. “Been doing a lot better, actually.” 

“Yeah?” 

“Yeah,” Harry confirms. “I did tell Niall. She guessed it, but only after I started to tell her.” 

Louis smiles. “The good ones can always tell, can’t they.” 

“The great ones wait until you know it yourself,” Harry agrees. 

Louis smiles brightly, poking Harry’s knee. “I’m proud of you.” 

Harry beams back at her, the source of light seeming to flow steadily from her flipping belly. 

“So you do know then? I know you were… struggling to be sure when we talked,” Louis recalls.

Harry feels a hot flash of embarrassment when she remembers when she started being sure. She reaches for Louis’ hand in a momentary lapse of her discipline, and traces a finger around Louis’ open palm. 

“Yeah, I’m pretty sure. I guess my identity is still a little… up in the air, because boys aren’t  _ all _ bad. Girls are just…” she stops, affronted with the image of the girl in front of her, in her space and panting, and she blushes furiously bidding the obstructive, all too relevant thought to bug off. 

“Yeah,” Louis says softly, as though she understands. 

Maybe she does. 

Well, she definitely does, but maybe she… does she think of Harry this way too? 

She knows their chemistry is real and true, and she knows that Louis is fond of her. The only thing that’s held her back is that she’s not entirely sure what Louis’ fondness entails. 

The back and forth Harry’s faced more often these days is whether she wants to be another girl on Louis’ list. She wants to believe in her heart that the dreaded list has to have an end. Could her name be the one that halts all the others? Circled and underlined with hearts all around it? 

“Cool,” Louis breaks the silence and pulls her hand away from Harry’s. She resumes contact with a hand on Harry’s knee, tracing a little pattern there that makes Harry’s skin buzz. “Did you see Mike today?” 

Harry shakes herself from her reverie a moment and registers the playful smirk on Louis’ face. 

“No,” Harry admits, a smile growing steadily on her face, “I didn’t. Why?” 

“He got a new briefcase,” Louis giggles, “I thought for sure you could see it from across campus, but apparently not.” 

Mike was the kind of outrageously bold Harry strived to be, but he was a bit of a dolt, which made it too easy to poke fun at him. Louis felt much the same, so they’d discuss his recent shenanigans from time to time. Harry had had to put a hand over Louis’ mouth to keep her from laughing too loudly the day he came to an event on campus in a top hat. 

“Did I tell you my sister got a boyfriend?” 

Harry shakes her head, and watches as Louis lights up, telling her story energetically. 

Sometimes she watches Louis in a room full of people and thinks this girl must be lit by the cosmos themselves. When she was plucked from the universe and placed in her mother’s womb, she took some stardust with her, leaving everyone in her path in awe at her splendor. 

And then there’s moments like this. Moments where she gets Louis all to herself. Moments where it feels like Louis sheds her stardust at the door, and what’s left is a girl with expansive universes inside of her. Each one more beautiful than the last. Harry can’t believe she gets to see more than one. 

Time moves differently here. It moves in flicks of Louis’ hair, and tinkly laughs, and when knees touch knees. They talk about everything and nothing at all, giggling further into each other’s space—eventually setting their mugs aside—and Harry doesn’t think so much about their knees touching, as she does of how much she wants to trace Louis’ collarbones with her fingers, or how easy it would be to laugh into Louis’ neck as an excuse to kiss her there. 

Louis keeps taking glances at Harry’s lips, and maybe she’s imagining it, but they just might be hovering closer as well. 

“Louis,” Harry says softly, eyes darting from her lips to the three little specks on Louis’ face and so on until she settles on her widened eyes.

Louis moves a hand to Harry’s thigh, and she unintentionally moves into the contact. 

“Lou, why haven’t you kissed me yet?” she whispers, searching Louis’ eyes for an honest answer. 

A sadness passes through them, and she moves her hand down Harry’s leg towards her knee and shrugs self consciously. 

“I thought maybe,” Harry says, the confession coming much easier than she anticipated, “that you invited me here for that.”

Louis still keeps her gaze down at her hand, and doesn’t reply. 

“You’ve been teasing me,” Harry points out, a small smile on her face. “Don’t try to tell me you haven’t.” 

Louis smiles at that, meeting Harry’s gaze a moment before she looks away, huffing out a short laugh. 

“That night…” Louis starts, her words feel loud with their closeness. Harry keeps hovering further into Louis’ space, like she can’t hear her at all. 

“The first time. That was practice, right?” Louis asks. “It was like a test.” 

“Sure,” Harry nods, remembering their words that night. 

“I, um,” Louis’ words fall back to something just above a whisper. “I don’t want to be practice anymore.” 

They lock eyes, and Harry finds them darker than before, bluer somehow, and she understands. She feels sick remembering her earlier concerns. Remembering the way she misjudged someone whose only proven to be more lovely than she ever thought. 

Harry is overcome with new courage then, taking Louis’ face in the palm of her hand, and using the other to brush some hair out of her eyes. She looks meaningfully into them once they’re uncovered and shrugs her shoulders, “Then just be mine.” 

The wind blows outside and whistles and it’s the only sound to be heard apart from Louis’ shallow breathing, evening out just before their lips come together. 

Harry imagined this all very differently. She imagined Louis taking her into her arms, and kissing her hard, and showing her everything she’s been missing. 

Instead, Harry finds herself in the leading position, pulling Louis closer and kissing sweet reassurances into her mouth. She pecks and sucks on Louis’ bottom lip tentatively, holding Louis’ head in place from the back of her neck, and pulls away a second to catch her breath, placing her forehead against Louis’.  

“Will you?” she asks softly.

“Will I what?” Louis asks, pulling back, pressing a kiss to Harry’s jaw. 

_ Be mine  _ she wants to say.  _ Let me be yours.  _

Louis’ lips press lightly below her chin, kissing a trail down the side of her neck, and Harry’s forgotten how to breathe. 

“What do you want, love?” Louis asks her, and the hairs on Harry’s arms stand straight up. 

Louis kisses her shoulder over the top of her t-shirt and Harry wonders if she’s noticed the goosebumps covering every surface of her body. She doesn’t know what to say—on the tip of her tongue is every young love cliche in the book. 

Harry takes Louis’ face in her hands and stares hard until Louis looks her in the eyes. It’s a little uncomfortable actually, and Louis’ cheeks are squished under Harry’s palms so she finds herself giggling. 

Louis giggles back at her, the moment seemingly broken, but Harry doesn’t mind. How could she when she made Louis’ eyes glimmer like that? 

Harry kisses her again, just a quick smush of lips, with her eyes shut tight, and when she pulls away, Louis smiles as she follows, leaning in to pull Harry into something deeper. Something much more sensual than it had been a moment ago. 

Harry gets lost in it easily, when she feels Louis’ arms wrap around her middle, fingertips at the ends of her hair. She’s still sat the way she was before, her legs folded underneath her, but somewhere along the line, Louis had unfolded hers so Harry sits between them. 

They stay like that a while, and Harry’s just enjoying the taste of her, the feeling of lips on lips, and the sound of their breaths intermingling. Harry hums contentedly, feeling something like jelly in Louis’ hold. 

Harry remembers briefly that she never answered Louis’ question, and she has a feeling that’s why this hasn’t progressed much. The ball is in her court, but she isn’t certain of her next move. What she does know is that Louis’ tongue is waiting to slip past her lips, and she opens her mouth slightly to permit it, and she moves her hands up Louis’ waist. They hit her armpits, and Harry removes her hands quickly. 

Louis pulls back, eyes searching, “Y’alright?” 

_ Yes, I just hit your armpits and it was the opposite of sexy and I don’t know how to recover now that you’ve noticed,  _ doesn’t feel like a sufficient answer so Harry whines a little, and attempts another kiss. 

“Hey, no, I can’t just pretend you didn’t pull back like that,” Louis says softly, placing Harry’s hair behind her ear gently. “What exactly is happening here?”  

Harry looks up at Louis with big eyes and a lot of fear she’d been desperately trying to push away. It’s terrifying, is the thing. Imagining this closeness, these intentions is one thing. It’s a whole other to  _ be _ here, in this position. 

“Talk to me, love.” 

Harry feels a wave of something entirely different at that. She feels extremely out of her element, and a teeny bit aroused, and so much fondness for this girl. 

“Wanna… be with you,” Harry says, and this time, Louis doesn’t duck away from her kiss. Harry kisses her softly, only deepening it for a second before she pulls away to clarify,  “Want it in every way.” 

Louis’ eyes are dazzling in the amber light, somehow impossibly bright in every color hue, and Harry waits patiently for Louis to grasp her meaning. 

“For real?” she asks softly. “Or just to say you have?” 

Harry shakes her head, “I really want it. Just with you.” 

Louis places a hand in Harry’s hair again, brushing it back. It feels intimate, even as Louis’ avoiding her gaze for the moment. 

“Lou,” Harry prompts with a whisper. Louis’ eyes meet hers and Harry utters a soft, “Please.”

Harry thinks she sees a nod, but before she can be sure, Louis’ lips are on hers again with a firm press, her hand moving from Harry’s curls to her face, where her thumb brushes lightly. 

Harry swallows, sucking Louis’ lips slightly in the process, and she feels another hand find its way to her waist. It’s a lot, all at once, feeling Louis crowd her space, pressing her lips persistently to her lips, her chin, her jaw, and Harry doesn’t know what the hell to do with her hands, so she keeps them on Louis’ thighs in the meantime. She tries to keep her breathing in check, embarrassed at the gasp that escapes her when Louis’ wet lips suck around the spot at the end of her jaw, under her ear. 

Not long after Harry’s falling into the motion of it—the pattern of Louis’ kisses as they move down her neck, the involuntary squeeze she places to Louis’ thigh when she grazes her skin with her teeth—Louis changes her position, pulling away and moving so she’s stood on her knees. She places her hands to Harry’s knees and rubs up her thighs and back down to lightly push them out in front of her. Louis takes a seat on Harry’s lap, and resumes kissing her, one hand at the back of Harry’s neck, and the other moving slowly but surely from her shoulder to her breast. 

It’s all consuming, the way Louis is giving her all her attention. Harry can’t seem to focus on anything outside of it. She tries at some point, to find something to ground her, to keep her in her right mind, but the spot she finds on Louis’ ceiling goes blurry within seconds, and then Louis’ lips are on hers again and her own eyes fall shut anyway. 

“Mmm,” Harry hums into her mouth, when Louis’ hand cups her breast. She gives it a soft squeeze, and Harry moans slightly. She feels her cheeks burn, and she tries not to think too hard, but it’s mortifying how  _ affected  _ she is by it, while Louis isn’t even touching her. Not past the material of her shirt and bra, anyway. 

Louis must pick up on her embarrassment, because she eases up for only a moment, before Harry feels a slight tug at the bottom of her shirt. Harry forgets herself a moment, forgets that Louis’ lips are still on her neck before she nods emphatically, her chin ramming into the side of Louis’ face.

Louis pulls off suddenly with a short grunt of pain. 

“Oh god,” Harry says, placing her face in her hands the moment Louis sits up straight, away from her. 

“Hey,” Louis murmurs, taking one of Harry’s hands in hers. Harry looks up to find a sympathetic smile, and glimmering eyes. Louis giggles slightly, “You okay?” 

Harry giggles too, partly because she’s mortified, and partly because its actually comical. 

Louis presses a kiss to her cheek, “Are you nervous?” 

Harry exhales, returns her gaze to Louis, and nods. 

“Thought so,” Louis says. “Me too.” 

Harry’s eyes widen at that, “You? Why?” 

Louis shrugs, “Want it to be good. Want you to enjoy it.” 

“Do you see me right now?” Harry asks, bewildered. Her face feels hot, and she’s still so flustered. “I am clearly enjoying it.” 

Louis grins and leans forward into Harry’s space. She kisses her hard and deep, and Harry hates it a little, how the first thing she sees behind her eyes is bright spots, like a tizzy of flustered fireworks. Harry melts into this kiss, like Louis could hold her up with her lips alone. 

It feels like she’s floating. The bright spots behind her eyelids drift and so does she, as Louis places a hand at the small of her back, and the other under her shirt, fingertips grazing her stomach. She kisses Harry into a daze, into another universe where she doesn’t  _ need _ grounding, where she can float in Louis’ light and affection forever. 

It feels like being woken from the best dream when Louis stops. She pouts a little, until she feels the fabric of her shirt being pulled up her torso. Harry helps Louis remove it, lifting her arms, and then she immediately reaches for the hem of Louis’. 

Louis puts a hand over Harry’s, and Harry looks up to see something close to fear in Louis’ eyes. 

“Can I take yours off?” Harry asks, quietly pleading. 

Louis considers it a moment before visibly softening, she nods and helps Harry to do it. Harry gasps a little once it’s done, taking in the sight of her. She’s wearing a sports bra, so her breasts lay pressed flat against her chest, and Harry finds herself wanting nothing more than to see them and touch them. Louis takes Harry’s chin and nudges it upwards, and Harry comes to, realizing her mouth is actually  _ watering  _ and gaping open. 

Louis smirks slightly, and Harry giggles self consciously before dragging her finger down Louis’ strap. 

“This too?” Harry whispers. 

Louis’ smirk fades into something softer, more hesitant, but again, she nods, and Harry pulls Louis closer to her, still sat in her lap, and reaches behind her for the clasp. She undoes it and watches in awe when it falls. 

Harry doesn’t know what the hell to do with them, and the ]shock of it all must be written on her face because Louis speaks up.

“You can touch,” she reassures her. 

Harry nods her head, and takes one into her palm. The weight of it is like nothing she’s ever felt before. It’s light, and soft, and Harry wants to kiss it, wants to take Louis’ dark nipple into her mouth, but she isn’t sure if that’s weird. 

She opts for kissing Louis instead, with her breast still in her palm, and Louis accepts it happily, scratching lightly at the back of Harry’s head. Harry gets a bit of courage, pulling away only to place an experimental kiss to Louis’ jaw, the same as Louis had done to her. Nothing terrible happens so she places another just below it, at the top of her neck. She makes a trail that way, all the way down until she reaches Louis’ collarbones, where in a daze of frazzled thoughts strung together ( _ I can’t believe she’s letting me do this, that I get to touch her) _ Harry tentatively sucks at the skin there. 

Harry lifts her head a little, checking in with Louis, who only smiles reassuringly. 

It’s all she needs to take it one step further, leaving wet kisses across Louis’ collarbones and chest until she’s ducking down low. It’s not a good position for her back, but Harry’s end goal feels much more important than all that. Louis eases her tension a bit by leaning back, her palms on the bed behind her, holding her up, so that Harry doesn’t have to bend quite so far to press a light kiss to Louis’ breast. 

Louis takes a deep breath, and Harry watches as her chest rises and falls, and focuses again on the task at hand, leaning in close to indulge. She presses her nose into one, and just barely kisses it. She doesn’t spare the weirdness a thought until Louis’ nipple rests on her tongue. She drops it suddenly and sits straight up, placing a hand to her forehead, overcome with embarrassment. 

“What?” Louis asks, her voice raspy, “What’s wrong?” 

“I’m an idiot.” 

“What? Why?” 

“I can’t just suck on your nipple like that! Babies do that! You’re not _nursing_ me!” Harry groans loudly and falls to her back on the bed. It’s over. She’s ruined it. Her chance at sex with Louis Tomlinson is shot because she doesn’t  _ think _ and she just sucks on girls nipples like a fucking  _ weirdo _ . 

“Harry,” Louis says, her voice gentle, and encouraging, but she giggles a little at the end. Harry’s cheeks burn and she covers her face with both her hands. 

“I’ve  _ ruined  _ it,” she whines, petulant. “You’re never gonna think I’m sexy again.” 

“Harry,” Louis says again, crawling up the bed, so she’s straddling Harry’s waist. 

“What,” Harry groans from behind her hands. 

“Why did you suck on my nipple?” 

“I don’t  _ know _ ,” Harry responds, shrilly. 

“Okay, wait, I asked that wrong.” Louis chuckles again, self consciousness coloring her tone. “Did you want to do that? Answer honestly.” 

Harry nods without uncovering her face, and Louis takes her wrist and moves it so Harry sees her hovering above her. “Well, that’s what made it hot.” 

Harry blushes furiously, and tries to bite back a grin. Louis leans down on her elbows, so she’s just above Harry, close enough to touch. 

“Yeah?” Harry asks, “It wasn’t too weird?” 

“I mean, I got worried when you pulled away,” Louis shrugs, “But before that, it was great. You’re great. Incredibly sexy, did you know?” 

Harry shakes her head, “Don’t feel very sexy.” 

“Believe me, you are. Can I show you?” 

Harry searches Louis’ face a moment for any sign of hesitance or dread, and when she finds none, she decides to trust her when she says she wants to. If she were really an unbearable sex partner she’d know, right? She could see it? 

Louis sits up and slides down and away from Harry before asking, “Can I take off your pants?” 

Harry nods quickly, reaching for the button to help, but her hand bumps into Louis’ as she’s reaching for it. She glances up to see Louis smiling. “I’ve got your zipper.” 

Harry undoes her button and lets Louis do the work from there, pulling her pants from underneath her and throwing them to the side. She hears another zipper and glances at her again, stunned to find Louis removing her own pants as well. She stands up and off the bed a moment to full remove them, and then she’s standing there, wearing only a pair of grey boy shorts and  _ maybe _ Harry is biased but she thinks it might be the hottest thing she’s ever seen. 

Harry sits up then, openly ogling her, confirming for maybe the millionth time in two weeks that she’s gay as fuck. 

Louis sits back down in front of her, casually folding her legs and she takes one of Harry’s hands, and squeezes it. 

“Before anything else happens, can I ask you some things?” 

Harry swallows hard, “Yeah, course.” 

“You’re not a virgin, right?” 

Harry shakes her head, “I’m not.” 

“Did you use protection?”

Harry nods, “Religiously, yeah.” 

“Have you been tested?” 

Harry bites her bottom lip and shakes her head. She meant to at some point. It just hadn’t felt urgent before, when she’d known they’d been safe.

“Okay,” Louis nods. “That’s alright, just. For tonight… Can I just touch you?” 

Harry’s eyes widen, she feels overwhelmed at the very idea. She fiddles with Louis’ fingers in hers and chokes out a small. “Yeah.” 

“Okay, I’m gonna go wash my hands quick, and I’ll be back with stuff.” Louis massages Harry’s thighs, rubbing up and down them a few times before she says, “You just relax. Lie down, and I’ll be right back.” She presses another chaste kiss to Harry’s lips, and Harry’s eyes fall shut. Louis pulls away much too quickly, and Harry exhales as she goes, letting herself lie back again in Louis’ bed. 

Her head hits the pillow and she remembers suddenly that she’s been in this position before. Lying down, eyes closed, imagining her own fingers are Louis’ and Harry squirms a little at the memory. She’s transported for a second to only a few nights ago a writhing mess in her sheets, two fingers in and hopelessly gone for this girl if only in her mind. 

The idea of this becoming a reality has her literally buzzing, a familiar tingle taking residence between her legs, and her next breath in is stuttered. She shifts a little, and her thighs press together create a friction she wasn’t expecting, a soft  _ oh  _ escaping her lips. 

Louis comes back a few seconds later, and Harry feels hot, sweat already beginning to bead at her lower back from just the start of her arousal, and at the sound of Louis’ voice her belly does a swoop and flop in a matter of seconds. 

“Okay, love, are you ready?” 

Harry’s eyes are still closed, and she exhales as serenely as she’s able, with her bottom lip between her teeth. “Yeah.” 

The weight of the bed shifts when Louis sits at the end of it, and it lifts her pelvis up just slightly, and the movement makes Harry feel wild with anticipation. Louis scoots in a little closer, “Gonna take off your underwear, now. That alright?” 

Harry hums, “Yeah.” 

Louis does it slowly, pulling them under the swell of her bum, and the moment she feels the air on her exposed lips, she shivers. Louis massages her thighs again as she pulls her underwear all the way down and then off. 

“Wanna bend your knees for me, sweet?” 

Harry sighs, openly as she does so. These pet-names might be the death of her. 

She glances down and finds Louis between her legs, with a bottle of lube and and awed look on her face.

“Okay?” Harry checks. 

Louis visibly snaps out of it, and her eyes dart to meet Harry’s gaze. “Yeah, are you comfortable? Do you want to sit up at all or is this good?” 

“I think I’m good,” Harry says.

“Okay, you just let me know.” 

Louis leans in close, and Harry can’t really watch. It hurts her neck to strain it that way, but she also doesn’t know if she could handle seeing  _ and _ feeling it. 

“Have you fingered yourself before, love?” 

Harry shudders, she can feel Louis’ breath between her legs. 

“Yeah,” Harry says, “I, um… Think of you.” 

Louis’ quiet, but Harry thinks she might hear her breathing pick up speed, “Yeah?” 

“Mhm.” The anticipation is killing her, Louis’ fingers find her stomach, and she runs her fingers softly down her midsection, her arm clearly stretched between Harry’s legs, and she nearly arches upwards once Louis reaches between her hips. 

“And when you think of me… what am I doing?” 

“I, um. I mean, you’re usually…” Harry’s so flustered, it’s hard to get the words out. “Dunno, you’re inside.” 

Louis grazes her lower abdomen with her fingertips again, like she’s personally beckoning Harry’s arousal from  _ deep _ inside, and it does nothing to help Harry focus. Only makes her more desperate. 

“How many fingers?” Louis prompts.

“Just one to start.” 

“Okay,” Louis says, “Breathe with me.” 

Harry does, she inhales with Louis and braces herself and Louis slips inside as they exhale. She lubed her finger up, and it’s cold against her opening, and almost unnecessary as Harry realizes just how wet she is, just from this. Just from waiting and wanting. 

“What do I do next, love?” 

It’s weird, at first, having someone else’s finger inside of her, waiting for instruction, rather than being alone and knowing exactly what she needs, exactly what will get her there. Louis is just incredibly sexy at asking, and Harry struggles with how to answer without killing the mood. 

“I usually start um… side to side a bit.” 

She can’t see Louis, but she can sense her determination. In the brief pause, she seems to center herself, and then in the next moment, she begins moving inside, from one side of her vaginal wall to the other, in an easy swaying motion. It doesn’t take long for the weirdness to fade away and Harry lets herself fall into it, the long way down mimicking the easy sway of Louis’ finger. It’s calming and comforting to start with what she knows. Harry feels incredibly safe here, drifting at the hand of Louis Tomlinson.  

After a few moments, Harry feels her drifting turn to a free fall, when Louis begins moving her finger in a new motion, twisting it further in and then not quite out, before twisting it again and reinserting. She doesn’t mean to clench around Louis’ finger, but she at least recovers quickly, taking another deep breath as she does. Louis seems undeterred, moving steadily in and out in that delightful motion. 

“Ready for another?” she asks, her voice rasps, but its focused. 

“Mmm, yeah,” Harry breathes out. 

Louis removes her finger entirely and Harry whines a little, missing it already, throbbing at the chance to feel it again. 

Louis fingers are cold and wet as she puts them back (in their rightful place, as far as Harry’s concerned) and she resumes the side to side movement Harry likes, but this time she brings her thumb up to the top of her lips, pushing just into her folds, and presses lightly until she finds Harry’s clit. Harry arches into it, a sudden moan tumbling past her lips, and Louis uses her free hand to steady her. She lifts her thumb, still moving side to side, gently, and she reaches for Harry’s hand. 

Harry takes it, melts at how Louis tries to intertwine their fingers, squeezing lightly, before she places her thumb back over Harry’s clit. Harry tries to keep her breathing even, tries to stay focused and calm, but Louis’ finger is on her  _ clit _ and Harry’s always been extremely sensitive there anyway. Sometimes she doesn’t even get to fingering when she’s by herself, just needs a sturdy pillow. 

Louis barely rubs her at all, and Harry feels like her entire body is on fire. Like a kernel over fire and dangerously close to popping. Louis stops at the center, and with two fingers begins pulsing back and forth inside her, her knuckles resting against her opening as she does so, and Harry has a hard time holding still. She’s past the point of initial arousal, and four waves deep, feeling dangerously close to orgasm already, when Louis pauses. 

She writhes a little then, helpless to stop it, and desperate for the friction to return. 

Louis squeezes her hand once and lets go, bringing her hand back to Harry’s torso. Her flat palm bringing a sense of serenity back to Harry. 

“You can, um,” Harry huffs a little, “You can keep doing that… if you want.” 

“Do  _ you _ want me too?” Louis asks, and Harry can  _ hear _ the way she’s smirking wide. 

“Yes, dickhead, I do,” Harry giggles, just short of hysterical, and Louis cackles in return. 

“Well, if you insist.” 

And she does, and Harry whines again at the returning sensation. Louis pauses in her pulsing motion, pulling out again just enough to give her free reign to Harry’s clitoris. She gives it her full attention, rubbing around it, and pressing it lightly, until Harry feels herself dripping, everywhere. 

Louis moans a little when she presses back into Harry’s warmth, and a small squelching sound is there to accompany it. It feels dirty in the best way, and if Harry were sitting up, she’d throw her head back, but all the same she feels herself really let go. The only thing that matters now is Louis, and her fingers, and the sounds she makes while she’s inside—really seeing Harry and feeling her in a way no one else has.

“You wanna come for me, sweet?” 

Harry hums wordlessly, blissfully, as Louis rubs her clit again just so. 

“Gonna make you come now,” Louis says, words slightly slurred. 

And if Harry were a little more coherent, she’d tease Louis for her certainty, until Louis crooks her fingers from inside, her fingertips grazing the wall that holds her clitoris just on the other side, and Harry grunts a little. A startling sound for a shocking sensation. Louis does it again, blowing softly on her entrance as she does, and Harry feels so overwhelmed, she’s amazed she hasn’t come from the shock of it. 

She feels another cool blast of air, and one more crook of Louis’ fingers, this time her thumb meeting them from the other side, pressing directly at Harry’s clit, and then she’s coming. Her legs tremor and she arches again, involuntarily, as Louis stays in position, guiding her through it, and pressing kisses to both of her thighs. 

Harry knows she’s lucky to know what this feeling is, she’s lucky to have experienced an orgasm at all, let alone with a beautiful person whose priority was to make her feel good. It all feels familiar, and comforting, like returning from a long journey, but in her arrival she’s brought something new. Something that begins to bloom from inside and exists as a gentle cascade of ripples and waves and the moment she feels it she knows that she will never be the same. 

Louis removed both her fingers a few seconds ago and she sits up straighter, and stands to her feet. Harry takes in the sight of her, still so amazed at her breasts, at her waist, and the soft swell of her belly. Her eyes scan down her, as her eyelids fight to stay open, and she can  _ see _ how wet Louis is, where the light grey of her underwear has gone a little darker. 

“Where are you going?” Harry slurs. As much as she’s enjoying the view, she’d much to have her close enough to touch. 

“Gonna wash my hands,” Louis explains softly. “I’ll be right back.” 

Louis doesn’t take long at all, though Harry suspects it’s because she did just a little more than rest her eyes in the meantime. Still, when Louis returns, Harry feels warm and comfortable, and she easily pulls Louis closer so she can rest her head near her breasts. 

Louis chuckles softly, “So we know you’re a boob girl.” 

“You’ve  _ no _ idea,” Harry replies with a husky laugh in return. 

“You’re so sexy,” Louis sighs. 

Harry preens at the compliment though she denies it on instinct, “Yeah, right.” 

“You wanna feel how sexy you are?” Louis asks, pulling back slightly to meet Harry’s eyes. 

They lock eyes, and Harry nods tentatively. 

Louis smiles, and takes Harry’s hand in hers, and with their hands folded together, she brings them down below her torso, and presses the back of Harry’s hand between her legs. Harry feels where she’s wet, and gasps a little. 

“That’s all thanks to you, love.” 

“Did you come?” Harry asks. “Nothing’s thanks to me if you haven’t.” 

Louis grins at that, a mischievous gleam in her eye, “Not yet I haven’t.” 

Harry widens her eyes, “Can I help?” 

Louis nods, and scoots in closer. She kisses Harry long and deep, and presses the back of Harry’s hand back against herself. “Absolutely.” 

“What can I do?” 

“Honestly, you look beat, love. I might just rub one off on you, if that’s alright?” 

The mere idea of it has Harry’s arousal making a reappearance. She nods quickly, and Louis repositions herself so she’s lower, and she wraps their legs together. 

“Can I take off your bra?” Louis asks. 

Harry nods quickly, and shuffles so Louis can reach her bra clasp easier. 

Louis moves closer into her space once its off, and noses gently at her breast, kissing it lightly, just as Harry had done to her before. Harry hums, and feels Louis press into her, her wetness seeping through her panties and to Harry’s thigh, and it’s all so much, so hot, she feels like she might come again. 

Harry touches herself through it, desperate for a pressure that matches what Louis’ giving herself, and maybe she’s imagining it, but it feels like she can feel a flutter against her legs, when Louis gives a soft and final  _ ah _ and comes. 

She teases herself a little, pausing her own movements to savor the feeling of Louis’ heavy breathing against her breasts, and when she leans in to give her nipple a tentative suck, Harry moans, and touches herself again, in deep circular motions until she’s finishing for the second time. 

Louis doesn’t move right away, just breathes deeply into Harry’s chest, and presses another kiss to it every few moments. 

“You and your fingers are fucking magic,” Harry says suddenly, and her voice sounds far off, even to herself. 

Louis huffs a laugh, and nuzzles Harry’s chest.

Harry’s exhausted, be it from all the nerves, or the build-up, or a mix of the two, she doesn’t know. She’s about to ask Louis to budge up for a real cuddle, when Louis speaks up first. 

“We gotta get up and pee.” 

Harry grimaces, “Damn. Do we?”

Louis nods, and her nose bumps Harry’s boob in the process. They both giggle at it, and Louis takes a deep breath before untangling their legs and forcing herself upright. 

“Come with me, so I can take you back to bed.” Louis says, sweetly. 

And with an offer like that, Harry would be stupid to refuse. 

Harry falls asleep that night feeling at home in her own body, maybe more than she ever has. She curls into Louis’ side, and kisses her neck, and hopes that maybe this is her life now. That maybe what once felt like an all consuming nightmare has made way for a perfectly lucid dream. 

Louis’ breathing evens out sooner than her own, and Harry indulges in a quick glance at her sleeping figure, before she decides that maybe anything is possible if she gets to keep Louis.

 

___

 

_ August 26, 2018 _

“Hey, Lou.” 

Louis stirs a little, burrowing further under the blanket, hoping to drown out the sounds breaking through her subconscious. 

“Louis,” says a voice eerily similar to her mother’s. “Come on, love, breakfast is ready.” 

She opens her eyes slowly, they’re swollen as usual, but her cheeks are dry. Her face is mostly covered by a blanket that smells just like her mom, and when she’s able to fully open her eyes, she remembers why. 

Louis groans a little, rolling over so she lies on her back and finds Jay hovering just over top of her. She has little recollection of the night before, but judging by the tone of her mother’s voice, it wasn’t a good one. 

Jay has a hand in Louis’ hair, and she brushes it back lightly as she asks, “You hungry?” 

That lilt in her voice, and the  _ very  _ small smile on her face, tells Louis it must have been terrible. 

She rubs her eyes, and sighs, and replies honestly, “Not really.” 

“Well, I’d like if you joined me for breakfast, please. You should try to eat something.” 

Louis grimaces a little, as Jay scratches the top of her head softly with the tips of her fingernails. She feels eight again, after a particularly bad day at school, or a dreadful sick day. Come to think of it, she  _ feels _ sick. Her bones ache and when she sits up a little, she feels light headed and nauseous. 

“You gonna throw up?” Jay asks her, voice warning. The nausea must be written all over her face. 

Louis nods her head, and the moment a bucket is in her hand she finds herself retching into it. She throws up a couple times, wondering what the hell has happened to her body in the last twenty four hours and why she can’t remember any of it. Minutes after she’s thrown up, she’s still dry heaving into a tiny bucket full of her own sick. She grimaces at the smell, and that alone has her retching again into it. 

Her mom left the room only a few minutes ago, but Louis wishes she’d come back. She sets the bucket down on the floor by the bed and sighs in relief when Jay returns with a tall glass of water. Louis leans back against the headboard and gulps it back. 

“Thanks, mom,” she says pitifully, setting the glass on the bedside table. There’s a clock that she hadn’t noticed before that reads ten forty-two and she hiccups a little before she asks, “When did I get here?” 

“About eleven last night.” Jay answers, with no further explanation. She doesn’t seem surprised that Louis’ asked and that alone is alarming. 

“Was I drunk?” 

“Probably,” Jay replies and placing a cool washcloth to Louis’ forehead, and gazing at her with big warm eyes. Louis can’t tell if they’re concerned or disappointed, which likely means she’s both. 

“Probably or definitely?” Louis presses. 

“You don’t remember anything, do you?” Jay frowns, moving the washcloth just slightly to the left on Louis’ head. 

Louis shakes her head, admitting defeat. 

“You called me, said you were lost at the station,” she says. Louis winces at the far away look in her mom’s eyes. “You were crying.” 

“What station?” 

Jay shrugs, “I have no idea. Made you share your location with me so I could find you and you were ten minutes away from your apartment. Just walking the streets.” 

“So you brought me here?” 

Jay nods. “Couldn’t really stand to leave you with Liam. I love her, but I felt like you might’ve called me for a reason.” 

Louis tries very hard to remember anything from the night before, but she can’t focus. She always calls her mom for a reason. Even if that reason is just to hear her voice. 

It’s not easy, getting out of bed, but she finds a way to do it all the same. Her muscles ache, and with each step, she feels her ligaments working that much harder to stretch and move with her. Meanwhile her brain feels away. She thinks, maybe, it’s still in bed, like her head never left the pillow, but she knows that’s not true. It’s out in the cold somewhere, pacing to keep warm. 

Louis sits with her mother in silence, noticing how Jay peers at her frequently, looking up with only her eyes from her plate, then down at the food, untouched on Louis’ own dish. 

Her heart feels heavy, and when her mother sighs from the seat beside her she understands why.

This is what failure looks like. Any time her mother sighs like that she’s disappointed, she’s worried, and Louis’ really fucked up. It’s been a long time since she felt this familiar aching in her chest. Even longer, since she identified it during the fact, and while her body  _ hurts _ , she finds that being here hurts more. 

She stands swiftly from her chair, and moves to grab a coat her mom draped over the top of her couch. 

“Lou—” Jay says quickly, another sigh accompanying it. 

“I just need some air,” Louis says, pulling the coat tight around her middle and buttoning it shut. She’s not sure where her scarf went, but she feels hot anyway. A blotchy red coming up on her chest, the way it always does when she’s drunk or bubbling over with despair. 

“I’ll be back,” she sniffs once and meets Jay’s eyes. 

They’re big, and sad, and so worried. Louis locks their gaze a moment, trying to let her know she’ll be back. She isn’t fine, but she’ll be back. 

Jay must understand, at least in part, because moves her head just slightly, in a miniscule nod, and returns to the food on her plate. 

Louis steps out in the hallway of her mother’s apartment complex and hurries down the stairs. The air in here is suffocating, and while stepping outside feels like a brisk slap in the face, it’s also a relief—like a deserved punishment. 

Louis hates that her mind goes there. She tends to find herself looking for omens. And with every omen comes the same stupid question. What would Harry say? 

Louis finds a dead bird in the road, and imagines the short whine, and deep pout, and Harry’s hand in hers with a tight squeeze. Louis winces, and then she thinks of how high it must’ve flown once. She imagines it somewhere in a V in the sky, feeling safe and free. She wonders what caused it to swoop down, and she imagines its confusion and its pain, at how suddenly it found itself trapped to the concrete and unable to flex its wings. 

Louis knows first hand that the fall happens quickly. She knows what it’s like at the peak of happiness and bliss, how quickly a tiny insistent thought, can push a person until it’s falling face down into the cement.

She shakes it off, and continues walking until she reaches the park. It must have rained early this morning, everything is covered in water droplets, and a memory flashes in her mind, of the shivering, waiting for her mom to find her. She shudders a little and chooses a park bench to sit at, with a vain attempt to wipe the water off with her sleeves. She isn’t diligent about it, choosing to sit down, even if it means her jeans have ugly wet marks.  

It’s so quiet, and the thunder clouds in the sky float by so slowly that Louis wonders if she’s imagining any movement at all as she stares at them. No one is here today, and it lays an eerie feeling up and down Louis’ spine when she realizes that she hasn’t even seen a morning runner. 

It feels like the end of the world. 

All of it. 

Losing Harry. Losing her mind. This empty park and those thunder clouds. 

_ I’ll find you. _

She had recalled Harry’s words the night before, and the hazy memory of her hopelessness and otherwise has her eyes filling with tears. 

Louis doesn’t think she’s ever felt so alone in her entire life. And in times like this, in times of overwhelming anguish, she wonders what Harry would say. 

The Harry with piercing eyes and wounded spirit. The Harry that had said her goodbyes, and rushed out the door. What would she say now? 

Surely not that she’d find her. 

Probably more that her Louis is hopelessly lost and gone forever. 

This one is damaged beyond repair, and it’s her own fault. 

It’s hard sometimes, not to imagine that even if the world isn’t actually ending, her own could. And it’s not that she wants it to, or that she’s ready to stop existing. It’s more a morbid curiosity of what they would say. 

Would her funeral be in good attendance? Who would hold her mom in the front row? Who would give her eulogy and what might they say about someone who has never amounted to anything at all? Who has loved, but forcibly removed most anything good and noble from her own life? How might they celebrate the life of someone who consistently gave up in the eye of adversity? 

Would Harry be there? Would she wear the dark lipstick Louis likes, and a black dress? Would she come in casual clothes at the last minute and stand in the back with tears falling down her face? Would she visit her grave months later to spit on it? Or would she come and whisper to her gravestone all the things she wished Louis would have said? 

It occurs to her very suddenly that maybe… that shouldn’t matter anymore. 

That maybe Louis will always be miserable so long as that matters. 

And right now, it  _ does _ . It matters more than anything to her that Harry still sees the light in her eyes. A light that feels long gone now.  

Louis stands up, and lifts her shoulders. She sniffs her tears back, and begins walking again. This time, she strays from her usual path, and takes a trail into the woods. The trees drip from high above her, and it creates a rustling in the leaves and sticks scattered across the ground. 

The wind blows, and a thought comes to caress Louis’ aching heart and mind. 

At the end of the world, is there a path to a new one? 

She feels another sting when her immediate response is a wish. A wish that this path came with a hand to hold, and a familiar, comforting voice. 

But she knows it will take time. As much as Louis resents that, she knows that the passage  _ is _ time. And maybe in this new world, she won’t  _ need _ that voice, or that hand. 

And maybe in this new world, Louis won’t need to be found.

Instead, Louis could find her.

 

___

 

_ February 23, 2018 _

Harry always wakes up very slowly. Her eyes begin to ache as her lids force themselves open, and it’s always a few moments before her vision really comes into focus and she can see the ceiling or the wall or whatever is directly in front of her. Once she can see clearly, she takes in the sounds, be it her alarm, or a steady breath in her ear, or the soft sound of silence. Then she’ll realize she’s  _ freezing _ and then she’ll remember she’d gone to sleep with someone. And now she’s awake, and alone. 

It’s happened more and more lately, and it makes something in her stomach go taut, and her shoulders tense. She throws her arm to the other side of the mattress, and feels empty bed sheets. The most troubling part is maybe that they’re cool, which means they’ve been empty a while now. Harry sighs a little, and stretches where she lies, arms spread across the bed, and she points her toes, trying to push her legs as long as they’ll go. 

She groans a little as she slinks into an upright position, tossing her hair back with both hands. Harry runs her fingers through it and glances around Louis’ room. Some mornings she’s found her on the floor, flipping the pages of a textbook as quietly as she can to avoid disturbing her. Those mornings were among some of Harry’s favorite. 

Louis’ pencil had scratched lightly at the notebook, and when Harry had poked the top of her head lightly, she’d startled, then laughed and stood to her knees and leaned in to kiss her, soft and slow, savoring it. 

It had been nice, but still different from the first few times she’d stayed over, waking early with Louis pressed up against her—nose in Harry’s hair, and breathing softly against her neck. Harry had liked those mornings the best. Louis never stayed asleep much longer than she did, and they’d smile into each other’s mouths and admittedly, Harry had never thought that morning sex could be as good as people said. 

Louis was consistently proving to her that things could  _ always _ be better than she’d thought they’d be. 

Now it’s different. Harry isn’t sure what changed, though she knows the differences are marked in how far Louis is from her first thing in the morning. Like every day brings a new view, a new distance Harry hadn’t been expecting. 

It’s hard sometimes, to be so connected, so intertwined with someone in those moments before sleep and then wake up with this harsh separation. She falls asleep feeling warm and content, and wakes cold and anxious. 

She hasn’t brought it up yet. Harry doesn’t know how to, not when the distance feels imaginary somehow when Louis returns to her line of sight, with a smile, and squeeze to Harry’s shoulder, and a quick kiss as they separate for class. 

Harry considers it every morning, and every afternoon decides to bring it up that night. Then the evening comes, and with the setting sun goes her concerns, and she can’t find it in her to worry anymore so long as Louis’ touching her. It feels like a silly, made up concern with Louis’ tongue in her mouth. So long as Louis is touching her, Harry can’t imagine a world where Louis could ever hurt her. She never remembers the dull ache of waking up alone until the morning comes.

This morning, it comes with a new heaviness. She feels it in her chest as she stands, her feet sinking into Louis’ plush rug with every step towards the door. She’s hopeful that Louis’ on the couch, watching TV. Harry knows that Louis hates to wake her, and will go out of her away to avoid it. But when Harry opens the door, she finds Louis’ flat eerily quiet. All the lights are off, which means no one is home. Harry’s never been left alone at Louis’ flat before, and her heart gives a harsh thud, a new wave of loneliness washing over her as she walks to a bright pink Post It on the fridge. 

Harry sees her name on it when she gets closer, and she tries to read the other words as she approaches, so that by the time she’s close enough to read it comfortably, she’s read it five times. 

_ H, went out with Li for breakfast. Xoxo  _

Harry squints at it, not because it doesn’t make sense, or because of Louis’ handwriting. She squints because it’s like every insecurity has been shot up a tube into her nose and throat and it hurts, just a little.

Something had been wrong the night before, and Harry had sensed it, but Louis had only pushed her away. 

She remembers it had hurt in an unusual way. It was a blow to Harry’s pride as much as it was a cause for her concern. She’d been hoping to try something, her mouth lingering at Louis’ thighs, and with an experimental press of her mouth to the top of her lips, over the wet fabric of her underwear, and Louis had clenched slightly, pulled away and more or less dismissed her. 

Harry feels hot from the memory, the flush of embarrassment covering her neck and shoulders from how deeply she felt it. 

Louis had apologized. She’d said she hadn’t meant to discourage her, she just didn’t want that. And of course, Harry respected that. Of course, she was mortified she’d pressed for something without asking Louis first. But an ugly thought crossed her mind first. 

_ Does she not trust me?  _

It’s not entirely unwarranted, Harry thinks. Harry loves having sex with Louis, loves being touched and savored and explored, but it’s been… often, that Harry has tried some exploration of her own, and Louis will subtly move Harry’s hand, or distract her by regaining control. Harry asked her once, if she could touch her, and Louis had said yes, only to cut Harry off a few minutes later. 

It hadn’t mattered much in those moments. Harry wanted Louis to have as nice a time as she was having, so she thought nothing of Louis taking over. 

It matters now.

It matters because this is the closest to love Harry thinks she’s ever been, but the one she may love isn’t close at all. She’s drifting further and further away. 

The fear is what seizes Harry first. It’s like when she swallows a small stone goes down her throat and tumbles, thumping lightly on it’s way, until it lands at the bottom of Harry’s heart—with every thud the stone jumps and it rattles her. 

Surely Louis didn’t set out to  _ abandon _ her. She hadn’t seemed that upset when they’d fallen asleep, she’d held Harry like always, and hadn’t so much as flinched when Harry had stroked her hair. Harry thinks of everything she knows of Louis, that she’s kind and considerate and so sweet to her, and cares so much… but it bothers Harry that she can’t think of what could possibly be wrong. 

And maybe she just needs to ask. Maybe Harry needs to show Louis she’s there. She’s ready, and willing and able to carry Louis’ burden the way Louis has carried hers. They can carry each other. That’s what a relationship is, right? And Harry’s ready for that. She wants nothing more than to really call Louis her girl. 

Harry looks hard at the Post-It again, and notes that it doesn’t have any details. Louis hadn’t bothered to tell her when she’d be back, or if she would be at all. She hadn’t bothered to tell Harry where she was, though Harry already knows. Whenever Louis gets breakfast with Liam it’s at the same place. 

Harry realizes that maybe Louis had known this. It’s entirely possible that Louis left this note knowing that Harry would know where she was. It could be an invite. Just a brief memo, allowing Harry the freedom to join them if she so chose. 

Harry feels the separation like a cold, cement wall between them, and the only relief she can think of is sidling in beside her, an arm wrapped around her waist. Harry just wants to hold her close, and drink her in. A kiss would be nice, but really, just Louis’ presence would do the trick—would soothe her racing mind, and heart.

So Harry decides to go to her. 

She gets dressed and brushes her teeth, and tries to do something about the dark circles under her eyes. She borrows Louis’ mascara even though she knows Louis hates when she does that, and grabs her bag on her way out the door. 

It’s getting colder outside, but it’s a short walk, so she pushes through, wishing she at least had the sense to bring a light jacket. It’s the middle of Feburary after all.

Harry walks quickly, her arms crossed at her chest to block the wind as best she can. She keeps her head down, watching her feet go one in front of the other, only looking up to make sure she doesn’t collide into anyone on the sidewalk. She glances up once and finds the small cafe, and she smiles when she sees Louis in the window. She’s speaking animatedly to Liam, across from her, and she looks so beautiful.

Harry loves when Louis decides not to care in the mornings. She’ll watch as Louis combs her fingers through her hair, and wipes the remnants of yesterday’s mascara from under her eyes, and decides it’ll do. Harry always thinks she looks beautiful, but there’s something indescribably sexy about her cavalier attitude in the morning. She feels a small twinge of something unpleasant when she realizes she’s missed it. 

Harry huffs a sigh and keeps walking. That’s why she’s here after all—for a little reassurance. Harry doesn’t need to miss her if she’s right here. 

Harry finds herself staring at Louis’ figure in the window, because she can’t help it. It’s the same as the start, if Louis is anywhere nearby, Harry’s eyes will always find her. 

Similarly, Louis eventually catches her in the act. Unlike those early days, the light in Louis’ eyes almost seems to evaporate. Harry feels her belly do a hard flop, and she looks away. Something tells her that she shouldn’t go through with this, she should keep walking and call it a coincidence if Louis asks her later. 

Instead, she hates her feet for the way they keep moving. Her skin feels tighter from the cold when she makes her entrance. The bell rings from above the door, and Harry looks up out of habit, and finds Liam staring at her openly. She looks uncomfortable, and that only serves to make Harry feel sick with anxiety. 

She can see from the back of Louis’ head that she says something, it’s confirmed when Liam’s eyes move from her to Louis and she nods, and then suddenly Louis is standing from her seat and approaching Harry. 

Harry’s heart beats so hard against her chest it hurts as Louis approaches her with a soft frown on her face. 

“Hi,” she greets, quietly, unsure of what to think. 

“Hi, love.” Louis greets. “What are you doing here?” 

She’s genuinely asking, and Harry feels something like shame coating her skin. 

“Oh, I thought…” she starts, and stops. She doesn’t know what she’s doing here, really. Only knows that she wanted to be near this girl moments ago, and this doesn’t feel like the way she should have made it happen. 

“What is it, Harry?” Louis asks.

“I don’t…” Harry mutters. “I wanted to see you.” 

“Did you follow me?” 

Harry’s eyes widen, and she feels her heart beat faster, though the strength of it hasn’t lessened. She feels like a ticking bomb. 

“Did you, Harry? That’s not okay,” Louis says. 

Harry shakes her head quickly, biting at her bottom lip, unable to stop her eyes from filling up with tears. And then a gritty self hatred floods her mind and heart, pooling together with all the shame as she tries to deny it, “I didn’t.” 

“You sure about that? I didn’t tell you where I was going,” Louis says, and she doesn’t sound particularly angry, but it is accusatory. It all feels wrong, and all Harry had really wanted was a hug. 

“No, I just… I had a feeling.” Harry says, her words choked as she tries her best not to weep openly—overwhelmed by it all. “I missed you this morning.” 

“Look, H… I’ll text you later, okay.” Louis says, gently. She places her hands to Harry’s shoulders, but Harry wants to push them off. They feel patronizing now. Nothing like they usually do. 

Her words hit Harry like a punch to the gut. Harry does shove Louis’ arms off her then, and she takes a step back, shocked. She looks at Louis like she’s burned her. Like her words and her touch have left irreparable damage, and all Louis does is shake her head and walk away. 

“I’ll text you, Harry,” she says one last time.

A dismissal. 

Harry swallows, and leaves in a hurry then, sure that the incident wasn’t without witness, and she can only hope no one she knows was there this morning. She can only hope that no one will  _ ever _ know of this. 

She won’t share this humiliation with anyone. Not even Niall. 

Harry feels numb the entire walk home. She stumbles into the front door of her parents house, and walks by her mom, washing dishes in the kitchen, unaware of how Harry’s entire world has tipped over, leaving her wobbly and unsure of how to stand. 

Harry sits on her bed. She glances to her left and stares at her reflection. When she meets her own eyes, she lets the tears fall. She takes a shaky breath in, and sobs it back out. Allowing the slew of mortification to push itself out of her with every cry. 

She doesn’t know how she so poorly misread the situation. She doesn’t understand how she could let her own wishful thinking obstruct her view of reality. And most importantly, she doesn’t understand how Louis can hold her so close only to push her so far. 

It feels like she doesn’t know her at all. And really, she doesn’t. 

Harry thinks of what she knows of Louis, and she thinks of how she cares, how she’s kind, and how hard she works. She thinks of what a great kisser she is, what a great lover, what a great friend. 

She knows what people say about Louis. And she knows how it affects, Louis. How it hurts her. 

But, it occurs to Harry that she hasn’t seen the dark corners of Louis’ mind. Not really. 

Harry can’t imagine Louis at three in the morning. She can’t imagine her with red eyes, and the kind of exhaustion sleep can’t fix. Harry knows she must struggle more than she lets on, she knows there are things that Louis hasn’t told her. 

They never really talked more about what they were to each other. Louis only made it clear that fateful night that she didn’t want to be anyone else’s practice, and Harry had told her then how she wanted Louis as her own. And maybe naively, Harry had thought they sealed the deal that night. 

She’s paying for that naivete now. 

And maybe the worst part of it all is that even now, Harry knows that if Louis were here—just by her side—that she would feel better. That life wouldn’t look so grim, and she wouldn’t feel so alone. And it’s scary to think that the person who could make her feel less alone, is the same person who left her this way. 

 

___

 

_ September 12, 2018 _

“I wish you’d stop smoking.” 

Louis’ eyes dart from the sky above the parking lot to her right, to where her mom stands, on the other side of the screen door. Louis didn’t think she would be home anytime soon when she took her pack of cigarettes onto the tiny balcony of her mom’s apartment. 

“Yeah, you’ve mentioned,” Louis replies, a sly smile on her face just before she locks eyes with Jay and takes a drag. 

“You’re such a shit,” Jay laughs, shaking her head in a way Louis could only describe as motherly. 

“Shit you brought into this world, mama,” Louis giggles back.

She feels light in the moment, like if she looked up at the sky long enough it could actually whisk her away, and it’s nice. 

“Yeah, and I could take you right back out of it too!” Jay hollers back with no real malice. She takes her leave to her bedroom, where she’ll change into her favorite pair of sweatpants and likely fall asleep on the couch. 

Louis knows because it’s the way of things now. It’s how it’s been since she moved in. 

Liam had understood when Louis packed a bag. She was openly relieved when Louis let her know she’d still pay half of the rent and planned to move back in eventually. It was just  _ better _ for both of them that Louis regain her footing somewhere else. 

Louis had been in such a dark place before, she hadn’t even known  _ how _ to ask for help, until she slotted in next to her mom and had a good, long cry. Jay hadn’t prodded at all, just smoothed her hair and pressed loving kisses to her temple, and silently, Louis had thanked her for being so much more than the woman whose DNA required her to be there. 

Louis is incredibly lucky, and though it’s taken her a while to realize it, that doesn’t make it less true. She returns her gaze to the lot in front of her mom’s building, and takes another drag of her cigarette. 

Time’s alright, she guesses. It got her here. 

And it’s funny, because so much time has passed, but this balcony and this view appear to be exactly the same. And maybe others would see this same view from when they were small and think that they’ve gone backwards. Like somehow, they’ve messed up their timeline and that returning to where you come from means the changes you lived through somewhere else have been reversed or undone. 

Louis knows that isn’t true. She knows because she left this place with hopes so high she thought she’d never see the ground again, and what brought her back was a fall so hard, it nearly put her six feet under. 

Louis had been so stupid at eighteen. She nearly laughs out loud at the thought. She’d been too confident. Too sure of herself, in her determination to make college  _ better _ . She wanted people to know her because she wore it all on her sleeve, and not because someone forcibly threw its contents into the wind. 

She doesn’t like to talk about her initial coming out, but she sure as hell remembers it. She remembers the indescribable pain and shame, and the way she’d forced herself to endure it alone. Louis thinks of that lonely walk down the hall each day that year, and the way all the girls in her class would avoid eye contact. She remembers going home and crying so hard she’d shake under her heavy blankets, and waking the next morning to return with a steely reserve, and the notion that outside the walls of that high school was a world where she could be herself  _ and  _ protect herself.

And it had worked, for the most part. Louis had been surprised to see so many people from that high school in her new stomping grounds, though she realizes now that she shouldn’t have been. Still, seeing the likes of Niall, and others from their school wasn’t enough to shake her from her resolve. Instead she’d skipped around in rainbows because it was  _ college _ and no one seemed to care. 

Everyone knew she was gay and nobody cared unless they were interested—and then more were interested than she’d ever anticipated. People told her it was a combination of her undeniable charisma, her confidence, and her ass. Louis would laugh in response and tell them that maybe these girls were just gay, and hadn’t met anyone else who was open about it. This was always before they admitted they were just looking for some experimenting, or had just broken things off and then showed up holding a guy’s hand the very next day. 

They were at least a little gay, Louis reminds herself. They slept with her and they enjoyed it, and just because they always seemed to leave her for a man didn’t take that away. 

People started calling her a spatula, and at first it was funny.   __

But every time someone changed their mind, it gave the term a new meaning. It became coated in shame and insecurity for Louis, and she learned very quickly that she was going to have to make a choice. Be herself  _ or  _ protect herself. 

She’d stopped going out so much after that. Decided that of course people were always going to know this about her, but maybe she should be more realistic about what they wanted. 

Then Harry walked in. Harry with her doe eyes, and her kind spirit, and her bitten pink lips. 

Harry had confessed to her one night, a sheen of sweat on her pretty face, that she’d had a difficult time looking away from her before they were friends. She’d whispered into her hair that night that she saw Louis and  _ knew _ she’d be important. Louis doesn’t remember the moment she had described, but she knew that Harry used to stare. She knew because Louis had always been staring first, only to look away quickly when Harry’s gaze would find her. 

Louis had tried so hard to protect herself from Harry. She’d worked so hard, and held back so much when all she ever wanted was to scoop Harry into her arms and free fall with her. 

She hadn’t known, though. Louis had had no idea how real Harry’s feelings were until Louis had ruined it all. 

It had been so different with Harry from the very start. Louis knew that at the very least, Harry wasn’t just curious. Louis had lived that faraway gaze, and all those questions. She knew first hand what a sexuality crisis looked like, and she was honored to see Harry through hers. Louis remembers their first time vividly,  _ fondly _ , and she remembers wishing she’d been able to call it her own. 

Louis hadn’t been ready, though. She knows that now. Harry had loved her earnestly, openly, and with her heart further than her sleeve—instead it was in her hand, outstretched for Louis to have. And Louis hadn’t meant to take it, but she had. She took it, and she hadn’t known what to do with it, and then it was broken and it was all Louis’ fault. 

Louis knows that she loves Harry deeply, even now. But then, she had felt like a turtle placed on its back, flailing, and helpless, and utterly useless. 

Louis wipes at her face, the way she always does when she remembers it’s over. Sure, time’s alright, but it hasn’t fixed her yet. And honestly, this feeling, this heartbreak may be it’s exception. 

Louis has thought it’s been over before. She’d played the game, and avoided Harry’s calls. She’d tried just being friends and fielding her questions, and in all of those cases, the only thing she hadn’t tried was honesty. 

The last time she saw Harry, she had thought she was giving honesty a try. Her deepest fears came tumbling out of her mouth and she realized in her very next breath that she didn’t really  _ believe _ any of it. Nothing she’d said was true. It had just been festering and scratching at her insides so long she felt the most ugly human instinct to force someone else to feel it for just a second. 

And Harry had, but the pain lingered longer than a second. What was scratching at the walls of Louis’ heart, ripped through her and straight into Harry, causing something completely irreversible. Louis remembers it with haunting clarity, like she actually watched her demons transfer themselves to the person she had silently sworn to protect. 

It had felt well and truly over then, in a way that was devastating and life altering and wrong. 

The way it feels now. Every time Louis realizes, or remembers rather, that it’s over, her heart gives a fighting, persistent thud and now it seems funny. Funny because Louis lost all her fight a long time ago, but there’s something so intrinsically  _ wrong _ with it being over that her heart persists. 

Louis lights another cigarette and tilts her head back against the siding of the building and looks past the edge of the roof to the sky. 

Is it really over?

Louis realizes she’s agonized over this. She realizes that she’s spent however many weeks dragging her feet and losing her shit at the very idea, but it occurs to her now in the calm of this early evening that it hasn’t sunk in yet. 

Part of Louis will always be waiting for Harry to call. She’s been waiting for the opportunity to apologize, or explain herself, or even just to soothe an aching Harry and tell her she’s here. But she knows that last one wouldn’t fix much of anything. 

Now she doesn’t know if there’s anything to fix.

All she knows is that her stomach turns at the idea of Harry remembering her for their last encounter. She hates the way she spoke to her, the way her words made Harry’s eyes dim. Louis remembers all too well her crossed arms and her words,  _ “You’ve made it very clear what I mean to you.” _

Louis looks back out at the parking lot, she thinks again at how little has changed in her surroundings compared to the change stirring inside her. 

She reaches for her phone in her back pocket, and pulls up her text thread with Harry. She doesn’t like what she sees—the words, the most recent date, the hopelessness and despair attached to each text. So she writes a new one. 

_ I might be the last person you ever want to hear from.  _

She hits send, and her vision blurs, overwhelmed at this moment, at this bridging the gap between herself and a person she was terrified she’d never speak to again. 

_ But I really need to talk to you.  _

Louis sends again and takes a shuddery breath in and a shaky breath out as she types out a final message. 

_ Please.  _

Her heart beats hard in her chest, and she knows all she can do now is wait for a response. And while she’s returned to this place that seems sealed into permanent nostalgia, she knows that she’s detached from that. 

There’s been a small shift in Louis’ heart and mind that reminds her she’ll never be the same as she was, then and now. 

She’s not who she was before college, and she’s not who she was when she met Harry. It feels huge now, to realize it. To see her hands and know they’ve touched another person and how that changed her. And to feel her heavy eyes and know the tears that have left them and how much it all meant, how deeply it was felt. 

Louis has changed whether she ever meant to or not, and it’s time now to embrace that. 

It’s time to be different. 

 

___

 

_ May 1, 2018 _

“It’s not that bad,” Harry mutters over the top of her mug. Her tea is piping hot, and the ceramic mug might burn her fingertips if she grips it much longer. She sets it down, quickly, so the liquid splashes a little at the top, and she moves her hands quickly away from it. 

“It’s not, is it?” Niall asks, challenging her with a raised eyebrow as she chews on the end of her straw. 

Harry doesn’t want to talk about it. Any of it. But especially not here. It’s a nice cafe, and she’s been neglecting Niall, and Harry was happy to see her until she opened her mouth. Then she remembered why she’d been passively avoiding her for the last several weeks. 

It’s finals week, and the end of the semester has had her stressed to the point of haphazardly applying under eye concealer at stoplights during her commute. She falls into bed at night feeling tired, and wakes up feeling exhausted. 

And Louis hasn’t spoken to her for a couple weeks. Harry doesn’t want to admit that she doesn’t sleep as well on her own. It feels stupid to be so attached to another person when she’s known her for only a handful of months, but she is. Very attached. And the silence is killing her. 

“It’s not that bad,” Harry repeats. 

Harry had thought things were going to fix themselves. That incident at the cafe a couple months ago was the start of a string of events leaving Harry confused and frustrated. 

Louis called her a couple days after Harry had been more or less banished from her company, and they got together, and Harry had tried to apologize. She truly hadn’t meant to invade Louis’ space, and the entire incident made her insides feel gross and sticky. She shakes off the memory often, but the shame and embarrassment lingers. Harry will try to coach herself out of them, but it feels like peeling them away slowly from the her chest, which of course, hurts about as much as ripping them off would. 

But Louis had called her, and though she had nearly dismissed Harry’s apology, and could have been a little sorry herself, she had held Harry close, and had kissed her hard until Harry hadn’t cared so much anymore. 

It was a distraction, of course. A good one, at that. And it wasn’t the only time she’d used those tactics. 

Harry feels all kinds of hopeless around Louis lately. Hopeless and out of control. Her feelings have grown so high and tall, that they’re easily swayed. Harry’s been bracing herself for the heartbreak to feel like being ripped from the ground, but that’s in the silence. 

In Louis’ arms, Harry forgets about all of that. She convinces herself all too easily that everything is fine, and that Louis wouldn’t kiss her like that if she didn’t feel it too. Sometimes, it’s like her hands have a stutter, too eager to touch everything at once, and Harry wonders if Louis feels a little out of control too. 

“I get it, you know,” Niall says suddenly, and Harry watches as her iced coffee goes from half full to a quarter full as she takes a long drink. 

“What?” Harry asks. “What do you get?” 

“It’s hard to explain, but… when Louis likes you, it means more.” Niall shrugs, “There’s something addictive about it.” 

Harry shakes her head quickly, she doesn’t like the sound of that word. 

“Just listen,” Niall says softly. “I think you forget sometimes that I lived some of this. I see what’s happening here, even if you don’t.” 

“Great, yeah,” Harry scoffs, “Let’s bring up again how you’ve slept with my girlfriend. Fantastic.” 

Niall rolls her eyes, and is about to speak, when Harry interrupts her.

“Why are you so sure that our relationship is the same?” Harry asks, bitingly. 

“Is she really your girlfriend?” Niall asks, softly. “Have you talked about that?”

Harry’s heart constricts a little, and she hates the way her eyes go wide as she scans her memory for the specifics, for the conversation that led her to believe this—to  _ know _ this.

She comes up short, and she takes a long drink of her hot tea. It burns her tongue, but that doesn’t hurt as much as her heart does. She feels crazy, like her entire time with Louis has been as in her head as her sexuality. She worries about it all the time, that it’s just a Louis thing and not a gay thing. 

But what if it goes even deeper than that? Has this only ever been sex?

Niall slurps the remnants of her coffee from the bottom of her cup and avoids Harry’s eyes. 

Harry opens her mouth to speak but comes up short, and sighs instead.

“I think… she feels something for me. I think my feelings for her are… deep. And real.” Harry focuses on the back of someone’s head past Niall’s shoulder and she blinks hard before she admits, “We haven’t  talked about it.” 

“I think you’re right,” Niall says, “That she feels something for you. I don’t want you thinking that’s not true, because I see it. It’s different with you two.” 

Harry feels awash with relief, and her eyes prick with tears. 

“But I think you really need to talk to her. Sort it out, you know? Because this… the whole, things are fine until they’re not, and then they’re not for several days or even weeks. That’s a habit of sorts for her, and it’s not cool.” 

Harry nods, and sniffs hard and meets Niall’s eyes. It hurts, that Niall has lived it too. It’s less validating somehow, just knowing that Harry’s different, but not enough for Louis to abandon this weird fight or flight instinct. Harry knows it’s a part of her and a person isn’t going to fix that, no matter how steadfastly they adore her. Niall  _ had _ at least validated her impression that Louis’ feelings are real. Still, it all feels fucked up in a way that Harry isn’t prepared for. 

Harry’s phone buzzes on the table, face up, and both Harry and Niall glance at the source of the sound. 

There’s a text from Louis, and Harry reads it quickly, soaking in the words like they’re water. 

_ Come to mine tonight? x _

It feels like a cataclysmic joke that Niall would be here when Harry receives it. That Niall would witness the way her lungs seize so fast it hurts, but her eyes still light up. 

“You gonna go then?” Niall asks, and Harry ignores the concern as she brings her phone closer to her face to type a reply.  

Harry nods, “I’ll talk to her. Promise.” 

She means it. 

Arriving at Louis’ flat, though, covers her intentions in a sheer sheet of whimsy and stardust. When she looks into Louis’ eyes, she remembers the galaxies inside, and it reassures her that there’s so much inside of Louis she doesn’t know yet. So much she doesn’t understand, but she so desperately wants to. Maybe that should be Louis’ call, though. She shouldn’t press, or nag, not when a light poke to Louis’ ribs could send her flapping away. 

The idea of bringing something dark to those dazzling eyes is petrifying, and Harry doesn’t know if she can. 

“Hi, love,” Louis chirps, sweetly. “Want some grapes?” 

Harry shrugs and nods and follows her to the kitchen, where she fixes herself a bowl of grapes and smiles sweetly when Harry meets her eyes. 

It’s astounding, how profound the back and forth is. How definitively separate Louis has made herself, and how easy it is to forget when three seconds in her presence has Harry feeling like the single most important human in her life. She feels as crazy for doubting it as she does for believing it, and it pushes something in her chest uncomfortably. She shifts her weight from one side to the other to relieve it, and again finds herself smiling back at Louis because she couldn’t stop herself if she tried. 

Everything feels normal. Too normal. After a bout of silence, Harry is apt to stumble through her first few sentences, to apologize if she’s done something wrong and beg Louis to forgive her, or explain, and Louis will fiddle with her hands and avoid her eyes and kiss her instead. It’s stilted and uncomfortable, but Harry always melts into it anyway, thirsty for the contact, for the reassurance, and the comfort of Louis’ arms around her. 

This time, Harry doesn’t know how to ask, and so she doesn’t. And without any acknowledgment of the distance between them, Louis seems to have no trouble at all pretending it never happened. 

“How’d your final go this morning?” Louis asks, plopping down on the couch and patting the spot beside her. “You had one right? I thought you had told me this.” 

Harry nods, it was weeks ago, when she was looking at the confusing finals schedule, and had lamented an early morning one every day of finals week. She remembers groaning quietly and nuzzling into Louis’ side. 

_ “I have a hard enough time getting up for my nine a.m. how am I going to leave you for a final at eight?”  _

“Yeah,” Harry confirms. “Bright and early. It was gross. Went okay, though.” 

“Good,” Louis replies, popping a grape into her mouth. She brings one to Harry’s lips, and Harry grins a little before she opens her mouth and lets Louis place it on her tongue. 

“When is your last one?” Harry asks while she chews. 

“Thursday,” Louis says, she rolls her eyes, and smiles. “So close but so far.” 

“We should celebrate,” Harry says. “Go out or something.” 

“Why?” Louis chuckles. “Finals are terrible.” 

“But it’s your last one,” Harry reminds her. “Your last one  _ ever _ .” 

“Oh, I don’t want to,” Louis says, she crosses her legs and shakes her head dismissively. “That’s nothing to celebrate.” 

“You’re graduating though,” Harry says, carefully. “You’ve done so well and accomplished so much. Don’t sell yourself short, love.” 

The word feels heavy on her tongue. It’s a term of endearment typically only used by Louis, but it felt right to say it now. Harry just wants her to know in some small way what Louis means to her, despite everything. 

“Graduating is dumb though,” Louis says. “I mean, yeah, I did alright, but I’ve got no idea what’s next for me. Why celebrate so much uncertainty? I don’t have a job.” 

Harry hates to see her beat herself up this way. Louis has enough charisma to stumble into success, and she doesn’t even see it. 

“It’ll all work out, though. Good things follow you, Lou. You’re lovely.” Harry covers Louis’ knee with her hand and squeezes, before she gives Louis a sly grin. “Magic, even.” 

Louis huffs a small laugh, and she fights off her returning smile, but she can’t keep her eyes from sparkling. She sets her bowl off to the side and leans into Harry’s space, pressing a kiss to her lips, both soft and insistent, and when Harry parts her lips, Louis licks into her mouth once before she pulls away. She presses another kiss to the corner of Harry’s mouth before she sits up and picks the bowl of grapes back up. 

Harry nearly sticks her bottom lip all the way out in an exaggerated pout. She reaches for Louis’ hand and intertwines their fingers and squeezes, and something dangerous blooms in Harry’s chest when Louis looks up at smiles at her. 

Harry really does love her. 

It’s true in a simple way—in a way that the thought doesn’t even surprise or jolt her. It’s just the truth. 

What’s not so simple is this pressing anxiety that’s pushed her heartbeat into her forehead. 

“Do you have any ibuprofen?” Harry asks suddenly. 

Louis squeezes her hand and nods, “It’s in the bathroom. Help yourself.” 

Harry pushes herself up off the couch and goes down the hall to the bathroom where she decides to shut the door behind her. 

She opens the medicine cabinet and finds the painkiller quickly, popping two into her mouth and tipping her head back as she swallows them. She shuts the cabinet and glances in the mirror, meeting her own eyes. 

It reminds her of her dark room, months ago—of the moment she looked herself in the eyes and saw what’s always been true, and still felt so new, so scary to her. She remembers how the questions and doubts had shaken her, and how still, each time she’d look herself in the eyes, she knew. It had felt right in her bones to admit it, and it feels right now. 

This time, she realizes that no matter what happens, Harry loves Louis Tomlinson. She loves her spirit, and her tenacity,  and her confident stride, and her hands, and her sharp intake of breath and the way her eyes flutter a little when she comes, and most of all she loves her strength. 

Harry has a basic understanding of how scary everything is for Louis, but when she looks at her all she sees is someone who could take over the entire world if she wanted to. 

And that’s why Harry has to talk to her. She knows it now, more than she did before. That maybe Louis will fight it, and maybe she’s not ready for the conversation. But Harry loves her. She wouldn’t dream of hurting her. And Louis needs to know that before she evaporates from Harry’s life too suddenly again. 

Harry swallows hard before she leaves the bathroom and reclaims her seat beside Louis. She’s turned on the TV and a rerun of Masterchef is playing. Harry moves into her space , nuzzling her neck a bit, and wrapping both her arms around Louis’ midsection. 

Louis doesn’t tense up, thankfully. She wraps an arm around Harry’s shoulder and unfolds her legs. 

They sit in silence for a while. 

“Hey Lou?” Harry feels a lump in her throat that she pushes her words past. “Why’d you ignore me the last couple weeks?”

Harry’s close enough to Louis that she can feel her hefty exhale. 

“I didn’t,” Louis denies quietly. 

“I haven’t heard from you in two weeks.” Harry reiterates gently. “I sent you texts, and called you a couple times, but you never answered. That means you were ignoring me.” 

“Was just busy, H. I’m graduating soon.” 

Harry sighs. “I know you are.”

“Besides,” Louis says, “You’re here now, right? We’re fine.” 

“I didn’t ask if we are,” Harry points out. “I just wanted to know if there was a reason you didn’t talk to me for two weeks.” 

Louis doesn’t answer. She loosens her hold a little, and turns so she’s angled in Harry’s direction. 

Harry turns too, and she meets Louis’ eyes, where she finds her deep in thought, eyebrows furrowed, and lips turned down. 

“Lou,” Harry breathes out. “I—“

Louis doesn’t let her finish, she barely let’s her start, before her lips crash into Harry’s. 

She kisses her deep and long, and holds Harry’s face steady in her hands while she does. 

It’s the kind of kiss that means a lot. The kind that presses into your skin and holds you a moment so you forget how fast you’re falling. 

Harry shuts her eyes tight before she pulls back quickly. Louis’ lips follow hers, but Harry looks down so they bump her head instead. She can’t do it this way. She can’t let Louis kiss the fear right out of her, not really. Not when she can feel Louis’ in her trembling hands.  

She takes in a shaky breath, “Louis, you’re…” 

“What?” Louis asks, a sudden challenge in her voice. 

Harry looks up then, and finds something like resentment in Louis’ gaze, in the downward turn of her lips, and the bags under her eyes. 

“What am I?” Louis asks again, and clearer than ever before Harry sees the fear in them. Louis is terrified. 

“You’re important,” Harry says, and the weight of her words press her heart up to her chest, and her eyes fill with tears. “You’re so important to me,” she whispers. 

Harry is surprised to find pools of tears in Louis’ own eyes, tipping over the edge and down her cheeks. There’s so much in this silence and in every silence that’s come before it. 

“Am I?” Louis asks. The question feels rough and sincere. 

“You are,” Harry says back. “So important it scares me a little.” 

Harry stops and collects her thoughts. She knows that her words count here, and that there is a right and a wrong thing to say here, but maybe what’s more important is that she’s honest. 

“I need to know if I’m important too,” Harry admits. “And when you don’t… talk to me, it hurts. It hurts so much because I only ever want you close and sometimes you just feel so fucking far—“ 

“What if you’re not—“ Louis starts, and stops, and Harry’s heart bursts in the inbetween. 

“Not what?” Harry asks, and her words sound muffled, like she’s listening to herself from underwater. 

Louis swallows hard, and she closes in on herself a little as she finishes her thought, “What if you’re not gay, Harry?” 

Harry feels it all it her gut, all the gritty, ugly, shit that’s been piling up and she feels it crawl up her body. For a moment she thinks she might throw up. 

“What?” she asks with quiet bewilderment. 

“What if you’re not gay?” Louis asks, and the question feels sincere and almost condescending. Harry knows in her right mind that it’s that awful fear she could see earlier speaking now, but it also feels malicious. It feels like Louis’ fears are barking Harry’s own back at her as a reason this won’t work. 

A reason Louis can’t love Harry in return. 

“I am,” Harry says with a certainty that astounds even herself. Because she’s scared, but she knows. She is rooted in this, and it is a part of her, and there is no fear so strong that can make it go away. 

“I’m gay, Louis.” Harry repeats. “I’m gay and I’m telling you that you’re important to me, and that’s all you have to say?” 

Louis bites her lip and buzzes with a tension Harry can’t place. She crosses her arms and shifts so that she’s not so close as she was before. Harry’s heart aches. 

“I have feelings for you,” Harry admits, quietly. “Real ones. And you owe me some sort of explanation—”

“I don’t  _ owe _ you anything, Harry.” Louis replies, quickly. “I’m not your girlfriend.” 

And where Harry’s heart was beating hard before it’s now stopped. Only for a second, but it feels like a lifetime. 

The tears fall faster now, and she wipes her eyes, embarrassed that she misread everything by so far a margin. Furious that Louis won’t admit there was much to be misunderstood. 

“I guess I’ll just go then.” 

“Harry—“

“No,” Harry says, with simple resolve. “You’ve made it very clear what I mean to you.” 

“Please don’t be mad at me right now,“ Louis pleas. 

“I asked, Louis. I asked and you answered and now I know.” Harry says as she slips on her boots and grabs her coat by the door. “I’ll see you around.” 

Harry takes her leave, ignoring Louis as she calls her name, and she walks quickly down the hall and tries not to trip as she navigates the stairs with blurry eyes and a broken heart. 

 

___

 

_ September 13, 2018 _

It’s late, and Louis fell asleep in her mom’s bed again. Her phone is buzzing persistently from the bedside table next to her, and she hears her mom groan softly at the sound. Louis sits up, bleary eyed and confused, and mutters an apology to Jay with every intention of ignoring the call and going back to sleep. 

She reaches out for the button, and her eyes focus in on the name. 

Harry is calling. 

Louis almost gasps audibly at the sight, and she flounders for her phone and leaves the room, shutting the door behind her. 

She wasn’t fast enough, and Harry’s name is listed as a missed phone call on her screen. Louis swears, and takes a seat on the floor, leaning against the wall. She spares a thought for returning the call in the morning, but she takes another look at the clock and something in her gut pushes her to call back now. 

It feels like Louis’ heart is in her throat when she hears the first ring, the second brings a wave of regret, and the third has her embarrassed. Of course, she missed her chance. Harry was prompted to leave a voicemail and must have thought better of calling at all. 

Then, on the fourth, she hears a soft, “Hello?” 

The sound of her voice knocks the wind out of Louis, and she grips her heart where she sits on the floor, and it takes all she has not to start crying. She just can’t believe Harry answered the phone. 

“Louis?” she asks again, and Louis can hear the timid uncertainty, the fear on the other line. 

“Hi,” she croaks back. It’s so late, and she’s so tired, and she can’t believe she’s talking to Harry right now. 

“Hi,” she breathes back, and it crackles a little over the line. 

“Sorry, I missed your call,” Louis starts. 

“It’s okay. Did I wake you?” 

“Yeah,” Louis admits, “but I’m glad you called.” 

There’s a brief silence before Harry agrees, “I, um. I got your texts.” 

Louis’ face feels tighter, and she’s trying too hard to keep herself together, but it’s like she’s  _ here _ . It’s like Louis can see her downward gaze, and the way she’s likely fiddling with her fingers. She must be in her bedroom, because she can hear the light squeak of Harry’s bed as she shifts. 

“I’ve been thinking about them all night,” Harry says, softly. “Couldn’t sleep.” 

Louis understands, “Can we, um… meet up, then?” 

“Now?” Harry asks, and Louis smiles a little, imagining Harry’s eyebrows shooting up at the idea. 

“If you’re up for it, yeah. Or we could compare schedules and find a time.” Louis has no idea how she keeps her voice even. The idea of seeing Harry in person has her skin buzzing, and her head spinning, and it could happen as early as  _ tonight _ . 

Harry is quiet on the line. It’s a thoughtful silence, and Louis can feel the back and forth that must be happening in her mind. She leans forward a bit, anticipating the answer, and her heart makes a jump when Harry speaks again.

“Meet me at that park we used to go.” 

Louis nods quickly before she remembers Harry can’t see her. “I’ll be there in twenty.” 

“See you then.” Harry says quickly, and then she hangs up. 

Louis stares at her phone in disbelief, standing so quickly, her head throbs a bit, and she blinks before throwing on a beanie and a dirty pair of jeans from the floor. She considers a bra, but doesn’t want to wake her mom to retrieve it, so she just pulls on a denim jacket, slips on her shoes, and makes a quiet escape.

The night air feels cool against her face, and she takes in the sound of crickets and that regular ambient night sound. Louis used to take walks in the middle of the night when she was young, and couldn’t sleep. She’d thought that in this neighborhood, it felt like you could hear the sky take breaths, like it was sleeping. It was that sound that she’d file away when she returned, and let it lull her to sleep on her worst nights. 

It’s calming now, which Louis needs. She feels like she could jump out of her skin, she’s so nervous. Louis drives her mom’s car and realizes along the way that she doesn’t even know what she wants to  _ say _ to Harry. 

Louis keeps her eyes on the road ahead and hopes it’ll just come to her in the moment. And when she arrives, she wonders if she should’ve tried to piece  _ something  _ together in preparation. 

She finds Harry straight away on the swings, with her feet tucked together, and twisting into the sand. She grips the chains on her sides with both hands, and must purposely avoid the direction of Louis’ headlights. 

Louis turns off the car, opens the door, and takes a deep breath before she locks it, shoving the keys into her pocket, and walking towards Harry. Louis checks their surroundings, because it’s eerie being in this place so late. 

Then she’s close enough that she can make out Harry’s face. Louis can’t help the way her eyes widen, and she inhales quickly. Harry is even more beautiful than she had remembered. 

Her eyes are big, and a little swollen, and Louis wishes she could tell Harry to close them a moment so Louis could kiss them softly. 

Louis doesn’t know how long she stands there, taking Harry in, before Harry coughs a little and waves. 

Louis lets out a breath, and waves back. 

“Do you wanna…” Louis gestures to the picnic table several feet away. 

Harry nods, pulling her feet from where she’d buried them partially in the sand, and stands. 

There’s an impulse to touch, and Louis feels it strongly between the two of them, but Harry withdraws seconds after she reaches out, so Louis decides to respect her distance and follow her lead. 

Louis walks to the picnic table, and grimaces at the water droplets all over the bench, but takes a seat anyway. She expects Harry to take the seat across from her, but instead she sits down beside her. There is enough space between them that they don’t risk touching without intending to, but Louis is grateful for her presence. Harry always grounded her in a way she hadn’t expected, and even now, when no part of them is touching, Louis feels calmer and more centered with Harry at her side. 

Louis wonders briefly if Harry’s waiting for her to speak, she glances over at her, and finds her head lifted toward the sky, her eyes closed. It feels almost like she doesn’t care if anyone says anything at all. Louis gazes on as the moonlight gives her pale skin a certain glow. She notices Harry’s mascara has begun clumping off in bits and pieces. 

Louis would be convinced that Harry doesn’t care at all what she says to her, but she’s reminded of her voice on the phone moments ago. She couldn’t sleep, she had said. She was thinking of Louis’ messages. Messages Louis wrote in a moment of desperation.

She swallows hard and takes a deep breath before she says, “Thanks for meeting me.” 

Harry nods, and opens her eyes, turning her head to meet Louis’ gaze. 

The look in Harry’s eyes makes Louis feel she’s farther than before. Where Louis had always sought out some distance before, Harry had always been leaning closer. But even in her body language now, she seems further. And Louis should have expected this. Harry is not the same in the way Louis is not the same, and of course she would be hesitant. 

Even when it’s all said and done, there’s a great chance that Harry will still walk away. 

Louis’ stomach twists but she knows she’s prepared for that. What she can’t bear, is the idea of Harry walking away without any idea how Louis loved her. Loves her still. 

Harry still hasn’t said anything, and Louis would wait for invitation, but she’s learned that she shouldn’t wait for what’s right in front of her, so she begins. 

“I don’t know how to talk to you right now,” Louis admits. “It feels like there’s a right thing to say, and I have no idea what it is.” 

Louis sees Harry’s eyes go cloudy, and it reminds her of the last time they were together. How horribly it went wrong, and how she hated to see Harry cry as she left. 

“I think I should start with, ‘I’m sorry’,” Louis says softly. “Because I am, and because first and foremost you deserve an apology. I was… lost—still am a little. But that doesn’t mean I ever had the right to be a dick to you. And I realize now that I could’ve felt a little less lost sooner if I had just been honest with you.” 

“Thank you,” Harry says. It’s louder than anything she’s said all night, though it’s still not far above a whisper. 

“More importantly… I hate myself for how I encouraged you to doubt yourself. Your identity.” 

Harry tenses a little, and Louis looks her in the eyes, even when Harry won’t return it and continues. 

“You were always so much stronger than me. In regards to all of that. I’ve known I was gay for a long time, but I’ve had a much harder time accepting what it comes with than you did. And I let my being lost, convince me that you must be misguided. I made assumptions, and I convinced myself along the way that you were much better off without me. That you would figure it out eventually, that it was a phase. And that I’d save us both from getting hurt. You’re so smart, I thought you’d figure out you deserved better and just… let me drift away. But you kept showing up, and even when you didn’t, I couldn’t really stay away.” 

Louis sniffs, and she tries her best not to let it show that she’s crying. It’s a lost cause, but the biggest bright spot of all is that Harry reaches for her hand. 

Louis accepts it, and gives it a loose squeeze. 

“I’m so sorry I did that,” Louis says. “It’s just… There were so many girls before you, H. And they left every time. And it hurt, but it wasn’t the same. I felt more with you—feel more. And if you just up and changed your mind, I wouldn’t have taken it as well.” 

“Did you really not see how gone I was for you?” Harry asks, placing her other palm over the top of Louis’ hand. 

Louis shakes her head, “Not so much. I couldn’t see past how gone I was for you.” 

“You’re ridiculous,” Harry shakes her head, but there’s just a hint of fondness to it. It fills Louis’ lungs with hope. 

“Really, though,” Louis says. “I had to see you, because I had to apologize. But I also just… I need you to know.” 

“Know what?” Harry prompts. 

“Last time we talked… you told me I was important to you. And you asked me if I felt the same. And I fucked it up.” 

“I remember,” Harry replies, sadly. 

“But I fucked it up because my brain short circuited a bit. Because when you asked me if you were important to me, I realized then that I love you.” 

Louis hears Harry breathe in, and like that the words have left her mouth and Harry has taken them in with the surrounding oxygen.

“And it’s not an excuse, because I’m still sorry. But, with a thought like that, my brain started sorting through everything that could make that dangerous. That could make it wrong. And I worried you would decide you’re not gay anymore, and I worried that you didn’t even want to  _ be _ my girlfriend, and I know it was stupid, but that’s what happened.” 

Louis pauses, and she thinks that Harry’s breathing matches the sky’s. 

“That’s what happened, and I’ve been absolutely miserable ever since. Had people worrying after me all the time, and did the most ridiculous bullshit to make sense of it all. And I think now I know that you were always stronger than me, but maybe it’s time I tried being stronger too.” 

There’s not much else to say. Louis thinks she covered it all, and both Harry’s hands are clasped around her own, and she feels better. Still uncertain, and still sorry, but better. 

“Thank you,” Harry says again. “Thank you for saying all of that. I appreciate it more than you know.” 

Louis nods, and offers a small, hesitant smile, which Harry matches. 

“I think… we should walk.” 

Louis agrees, and stands up, expecting Harry to drop her hand and recreate the distance, but she keeps one hand tight around Louis’ and she pulls her along to a path, where she leads the way, but never leaves her side. 

Despite all the uncertainty—and even the dark, eeriness of the park—Louis feels safe. It’s freeing, to be with the one she loves without having to work so hard to conceal it. It’s out in the open, so she can enjoy the relief, and comfort of Harry’s hand in hers, even if it’s for the last time. 

“Can I say something?” Harry asks. 

“Of course,” Louis replies. 

“I think it’s nice you think I’m strong. And I know you were scared… I think I always knew that. I could feel it, at least. But, I’ve always thought that you were incredibly brave. And I just want you to know that. You’re one of the bravest people I’ve ever known.” 

Louis doesn’t feel she deserves such a nice sentiment, but she tries, for just a second to believe it, and it makes her feel warm. 

“You’re here, you know?” Harry says. “That’s proof enough, I think. In case you don’t believe me.” 

“Thanks,” Louis whispers. 

Harry nods, and they walk together again in silence for several minutes. 

When Harry comes to a stop, there’s a fork in the path, and one way clearly leads to a residential area, and Harry meets Louis’ eyes. She looks incredibly tired, and Louis wishes she could hold her, and let her sleep on her chest.

“I live that way,” Harry says. 

“You want me to walk you home?” 

Harry nods, “Please.” 

Louis still isn’t sure where they stand, and the idea of a goodbye being sooner than later is daunting. Her free hand shakes a bit as they walk, and when they come to a tan house with a red door, Harry turns to face Louis. She grips both her hands, and takes a deep breath. 

Louis meets her eyes, and the ache feels familiar. It’s the longing she hadn’t expected. Louis wants nothing more than to pull Harry closer, and to kiss her slow and deep. She wants to suck at her neck, and earn pretty moans from her lips, and show her just how important she is and always will be.

“Louis,” Harry says, voice soft, and eyes searching. 

Louis licks her lips, “Yeah?” 

“This is me.”

“I guessed that,” Louis says with yet another timid smile. 

Harry returns it, “I’m going to tell you exactly what I want to happen. And I need you to tell me whether that’s possible.” 

Louis nods, listening raptly, waiting for her to go on.

“I want you to walk me to the front door, and I want you to kiss me goodnight.” Harry pauses and bites her lip. “Not goodbye. Goodnight. Because I want you to text me that you got home safe. And I want you to call me when you wake up. And I just… want you to be there. If… you wanna give it another try. If you’re up for that, we can take it a day at a time.” 

Louis can’t quite believe what she’s hearing, but she wants to. 

Her eyes well up with tears, and she nods slowly before reaching out to wipe a tear from Harry’s face. 

“Is that possible, Lou?” Harry asks again. 

“I think I can manage it,” Louis replies with a wet chuckle. “I think that so long as you’ll have me, I’ll always want to try.” 

“How very brave of you,” Harry remarks, with a soft finality. “Strong, too.” 

“No magic?” Louis asks, quietly. 

“No magic. Magic is your essence. Brave is who you are.” Harry smiles wider than she has all evening, “Strong is why I love you.” 

The tears that snuck out were falling steadily now, and Louis finds she really can’t wait until they get to Harry’s front door. She swoops in, and finds Harry’s lips with her own and kisses her. Harry doesn’t hesitate, wrapping her arms around Louis’ waist, and Louis opens her mouth, and let’s Harry kiss her long and deep and wet from the tears. 

Louis pulls away only to catch her breath, because her nose is runny, and come to think of it, she’s disgusting and teary, but instead of fretting she soaks in the sparkles in Harry’s eyes, and she sighs, “I love you too.” 

Louis walks her to the door, and she kisses her again, softer this time, and she promises to text when she’s home, and call when she wakes up. 

And the entire journey home, she sees the horizon, and the expanse of her life, and she sees the sky and listens to it breathing, and she’s grateful. 

And if she whispers a thanks to the universe, well, that’s just because she’s made peace with it. It’s a terrible listener, but that doesn’t mean it doesn’t hear her. 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading.  
> If you liked this, it would mean the world if you'd let me know. <3  
> You can reblog the fic post [here](http://haloeverlasting.tumblr.com/post/170271349879/if-i-was-stronger-by-haloeverlasting-harrys).  
> Please leave comments and kudos, or come talk to me on [Tumblr](http://haloeverlasting.tumblr.com) if you like!


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